Fire Emblem: Foreboding Horizons
by Nila FE
Summary: Generations have passed since the end of the Grima War and the Shepherds' campaign against forces that threatened to destroy the world. As heroes of the past die, new ones will always rise to take their place. Based in the same world as Marth's campaigns, Gaiden, and Awakening.
1. Exordium - Awakening

**Note:**

**Finally, I present to you the very first part of Fire Emblem: Foreboding Horizons! As a note, in these sections I'll be writing short author's notes regarding update speed and other things I do in regards to this story. Also, at the bottom I may include other information, such as a possibly longer period before the next part comes out.**

**Furthermore, this chapter is sort of here to introduce some of the characters and foreshadow future events. The following chapters will be much longer, contain more dialogue, and more descriptive action scenes. Hopefully you don't find this "prologue" of sorts to be too distasteful!**

**Chapters will sort of be tackled in an order like they would be in a Fire Emblem game. Similar to Awakening, there's a prologue before the actual prologue _chapter_ (being this one, of course!) The next chapter will be a more typical prologue, where the lord meets the party and there's a small skirmish.**

**Anyway, please enjoy the very first part of FE:FH!**

**-Nila**

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><p>"<em>...Following the demise of Grima,"<em> the worn pages of _Awakening_ read, "_the heroes of Ylisse searched for their fallen brother and tactician. Some treaded through the recently conquered fields of Valm, and others searched through the snow capped peaks of Regna Ferox. Only two, however, would travel to the familiar lands of Southtown. In all poetic nature, the Hero-Tactician Robin was rediscovered in the very same field he entered the world in, by the same people._

"_Now returned to the world of the living by miracle alone, Robin was offered kingship of the lands of Plegia, his homeland, after the death of King Validar. The tactician, however, refused; living out the rest of his days in service of Ylisse._

"_The amnesiac hero that led the world into a brighter future passed away in the year of 973, but not before leaving his mark on the world through his many brilliant texts of tactics that are now considered standard in any royal army across the globe. Many accounts of history are unable to adequately recount his many tales, what he looked like, or his personality, but we as historians do know that he loved his friends, family, comrades, and wife above all else._

"_For further reading on Robin of Ylisse, reading _A Treatise of Tactics _and _Advanced Military Coordination _is highly recommended._

"_**Chapter 3: Princess Lissa**_

"_Princess __Lissa, Exalt Chrom's sprightly cleric sister, is an interesting character indeed…"_

The black-coated man laid the book, yet unfinished, upon his desk next to the two tactical readings _Awakening_ referred to. He leaned back in his chair.

"The world was so different then. How can we not find the same comfort of peace that these people did, despite death itself hanging over them? Ferox is divided, Ylisse's contact with the world outside itself is unheard of, and Plegia only has contact with _Valm_, of all places."

He pushed the thought from his mind. After all, he still had time to get in more training before the night set in. His thoughts could afford to rest for the time being. The man grabbed his gray, twisted blade off of its place on his wall. With a flick of his wrist, magical electricity began to dance across the edge of the ashen blade.

Spellbook and sword in hand, he set out into the desert, his open hierophant cloak trailing behind him.

* * *

><p>Cannonfire and ballistae shots rang out into the dead of night. Fires roared and burned, tainting the night sky a bloodied mixture of crimson and twilight. Nearby, a ballista bolt tore through the hardy Feroxian stone walls surrounding the town as if they were no more than paper.<p>

The brown-haired man slid and ducked behind a fallen stone pillar and hoisted his family's axe onto his shoulder. His red cloak was in tatters, and blackened from the burnt debris of the town. His light, leather armor was torn, revealing a bloody gash at his side, and his face was covered with the ashes of the blazing inferno.

"These Easterners just don't give up, do they?" He muttered, surveying the area. The familiar buildings lining the streets that he had known only yesterday had become foreign and hellish. The polished stone walls were marred with the ashes of warfare, and others had been torn down by the endless rain of ballistae-fire from outside the walls.

"Colin," a voice rang out, approaching from the direction he had come from, "I've found an exit." His older sister, Carolyn, had caught up with him. She was similarly worn down, her light chain armor was burned in several places and weathered from flying debris. Her once blue eyes appeared gray in the light of the town's fires, her similarly brown hair blackened from the ash in the air.

As Carolyn settled down beside her brother, she pointed. "Past that ballista bolt, in the alleyway. There's a segment of the wall been destroyed and no Eastern soldiers are around. We can sneak out that way."

"We can't leave yet. Not without Muiris." Colin's grip around his axe tightened. "As much as I hate admitting it, we need him if we're going to survive out there."

Carolyn sighed. "I don't know where the damn fool's gone off to. He was with me after we led some of the villagers to safety, but…" she trailed off.

"He wouldn't have run off on his own, right?" Colin sighed, uncertainly. "He's reckless, but not that stupid. He's around here somewhere."

A new voice materialized in the din of the siege.

"Careful what you say, brother. You never know where people will be listening." Muiris appeared beside the siblings. Colin's twin shared many features with him, yet carried a head of white hair in stark contrast to Colin's dark brown. The siege's destruction had not been kind to the mage either; the tips of his pale hair were burnt by the growing fires and his mage robes were as worn down as Colin's armor. In his left hand he carried a cheap, basic Elthunder tome. On Muiris' other side, his undeveloped right arm lay uselessly.

"I'm not leaving this damned place without taking down a few Easterners. Show 'em some Feroxian justice for busting up our town like this." Muiris winced as a stray cannonball crashed into the desolate street cobblestones, launching pieces of stone into the air. "See that? That's exactly what I'm talking about."

"Muiris, we can't. We need to focus on our escape first. We'll get another strike at them once we've roused some forces at Arena Ferox," Colin asserted. "I know some skilled women and men there who are ready to fight." Colin ducked as a ballista round crashed through a nearby building, which began to collapse. "Carolyn's found a way out. We need to go!"

"Sure, you would be the one to say that. The one chosen by Father to hold our family axe. You don't even know the first thing about how we do business here, and he chooses? What would mother say, had she still been alive?"

Colin winced as his mother was brought into question. He began to retort, but Carolyn pushed him out of the way and stood frighteningly close to the mage.

"Shut the hell up, Muiris!" Carolyn shouted, slamming the pole of her lance on the ground. Her two brothers stood silent. "Put your damn honor beside you for one day! If you haven't noticed, the fires aren't getting any smaller," She relaxed a little, returning her grip on her weapon to a more neutral stance. "Colin and I are leaving. Feel free to join if you'd like."

Muiris turned from his sister, shocked at her drastic change in personality. Electricity danced across his fingertips as he let an Elthunder fly, vaporizing an incoming ballista bolt.

Scowling, he grumbled, "Alright, fine. Let's get going."

* * *

><p>Dodging cannonfire and the flames that consumed the town, the trio made their way towards the alleyway. Surprisingly, the surrounding buildings had kept most of their structural integrity, and had not yet been subject to the spreading fires. Down the dark passage, only the starlight from the other side of the threshold revealed that the town wall had been downed in that area. Colin ducked into a forgotten market stall.<p>

"You two, grab as much food as you can from inside. I'll scout the outside area for any Easterners." Carolyn nodded at her younger brother, while Muiris held his head low. Colin rushed down the alleyway towards the open horizon of starlight.

Carolyn slammed the base of her lance into the door, knocking it off of its hinges. She and her brother stepped over the splintered wooden pieces.

"The nerve of that imbecile, making us deliver food to him instead of fighting!" Muiris clipped his tome to his belt to free his good arm. "Once I find one of those damn Easteners, I'll—"

"Hush, brother," Carolyn interrupted, filling her bag with some fruit that had been thrown to the floor by the shockwaves of cannonfire. "He's only doing what he knows is right. If you bothered to spend some time with him now and again, you might know that."

Muiris didn't respond. He filled his own bag with some produce resting comfortably in the stall, unaffected by the chaos outside.

"If he would show a little spine every now and again, like Father, I think I might stand him. Hell, even I'm more of a Feroxian then he is, and I fight with magic."

Muiris glanced over to Carolyn, who had stopped filling her bag and had turned her head up to the ceiling.

"You alright, sister?"

Carolyn held her hand up to silence him. "Listen, do you hear that? A whistling…"

* * *

><p>Colin broke out into a run. The alleyway was quite long, running through two blocks of town before meeting with the now-demolished outer wall. As he crossed through the threshold into the open air, his heart dropped.<p>

Stormguard stood upon a steep hill, granting an enviable view of the surrounding lowlands. Thousands of Eastern ballistae stood, poised for fire, among an innumerable amount of cannons and burning pitch throwers. The Eastern soldiers hardly had to move as they cut down the fleeing or retaliating civilians.

Colin knew that Eastern Ferox held the lion's share of military power, but he had never imagined as stark a contrast as this. He shook the thought from his head. He had to find a safe path out of the city.

He turned his attention to the hillside. Fortunately, the Eastern soldiers hadn't completely surrounded the town. Most of their forces had probably moved to cut off the escape of Stormguard citizens. The alleyway was fortunately positioned near the normally sealed Western side of the town, leaving an exit between the northern and southern strike teams. From there, they could escape through the frozen taigas between the lowlands and Arena Ferox.

As Colin moved back towards the revealed alleyway entrance, he stopped. Turning his head towards the sky, he heard a low whistling sound. As he waited, the sound grew until a dreadful sight appeared out of the dense smoke above the town. A giant bolt from an eastern-positioned ballista cut through the smoke and impaled itself through a merchant's building. A haunting creaking sound signaled the building's imminent collapse.

"No," Colin gasped, paralyzed to the spot, "Carolyn and Muiris and are still in there!"

Colin sprinted down the first block of alleyway, desperate to not separate himself from his brother and sister. As he passed through into the second block, he noticed that the building had begun to collapse far faster than he had anticipated. Stone bricks rained down the alleyway, threatening to crush any unfortunate enough to stand beneath them. Halfway through the second block, two larger bricks still connected by mortar fell directly in front of Colin, sending him crashing to the ground.

Colin turned onto his back, only to watch in horror as even more tumbled down from above. Raising his axehead into a defensive position, he attempted to block the incoming projectiles from crushing him. Another brick shattered his right arm, forcing him to drop his axe. Colin cried out in pain, helplessly, as the building continued to collapse. Brick after brick flooded the alleyway.

Colin's vision began to fade.

* * *

><p>The sudden ballista shot tore through the upper story of the building, knocking the two siblings to the floor.<p>

"The whole thing's coming down!" Carolyn cried, rising to her feet and grabbing her brother. The two leaped through the building's doorway as the entire second floor forcefully dropped where the two were standing moments ago.

The two siblings coughed and sputtered as the dirt and dust settled from the building's sudden collapse.

Muiris picked himself off the ground, his throat still coated with dust.

"Thanks for the save," he coughed. Muiris turned his attention to the entrance of the alleyway. "I figure we've gotten enough from that shop. Let's go meet up with Colin."

His sister hoisted herself to a standing position with the help of her spear.

"Right. Let's move."

Carolyn ran ahead, yet stopped at the entrance to the alleyway, dropping her spear.

"Carolyn," he called, confused, "What's the—"

The two stood, mortified. Where an open path once lay was now filled with the stone bricks of the very same merchant building.

"Colin…" Carolyn trailed off. "He's on the other side of that wall. We need to get over there before the Easterners tear him apart!"

"Carolyn, it's alright," her brother responded. If he hasn't gotten back from spending that long on the other side of the wall he's probably found a way out. We'll meet with him at Arena Ferox, as planned."

"But—"

"We can worry about him later! What's important right now is finding another way out. We're doing him no good if we can't even get out of the city before we burn to death."

"Y-you're right." Carolyn picked her spear off of the ground. "Let's have a look around."

* * *

><p>The Feroxian East Khan stood atop the remains of a collapsed market building, surveying the area around him. Hooves trotting upon the ground signaled his commander's approach.<p>

"Khan Aniam," the slim, mounted man saluted, "The area has been secured. As far as I can tell, no one inside Stormguard has survived."

Despite being slim, Lambert managed to keep a somewhat muscular build. His brown hair was styled just so at the sides of his face that his emotionless gray eyes were hidden from view.

"But what of the man?" Aniam responded, frustrated. "Do any of the corpses match the person I ordered you to collect, Lambert?"

Lambert sighed, yet his expression remained neutral.

"Not one, sir. Most of the corpses have been badly burned or crushed, so they have been difficult to identify. Damn Western dogs deserve it, though." Lambert paused, lightly kicking an upturned piece of cobblestone. He continued, "Oh, and the axe you mentioned during the war council hasn't been recovered by our men either."

Aniam stroked his lightly bearded chin, attempting to keep his anger under control in the presence of his soldier.

"...As I expected. He probably up and left at the first sign of trouble on the horizon." The Khan cleared his throat. "Rally the forces. We march on to Arena Ferox. Once we control the Arena, the rest of these Western holdouts will crumble. And we will see Liam avenged, on my word. I'll give you the honor of slaying the Western general that killed him yourself."

Lambert was taken off guard by his father's name. He looked down at his leather armor, lightly grasping the shoulderstrap that connected to his belt. Failing to compose himself, he stuttered, "A-as you command, sir. I will meet with General Ilias to draft our plan of attack and confer with you at camp." The commander saluted once again, and departed upon his steed.

After the mounted soldier was well out of sight, the East Khan cursed, driving his greatsword into the remains of the building.

"You can't hide forever, Colin! This world isn't small enough to hide the cowardice of your kind." The echoes of his anger carried far and away onto the midwinter lowlands.

* * *

><p>A cold, sudden chill blew through the boughs of the midmorning Feroxian forest. A convoy of four traveled through the snow-covered forest path leading to the Homely Hearth inn, a popular spot to those not used to the bite of Feroxian midwinter. An armored man and a taguel shared sat upon a powerful, golden armored horse; two other men, one in a brilliant blue trimmed white, and another in white trimmed black walked alongside the steed.<p>

"Ah, this brings back good memories of my time on the road!" The black garbed man stretched his hands above his head, his white-flecked black hair shifting in the breeze. "Maybe if you all are lucky, I'll tell you about that time my caravan went up to Arena Ferox. Those Feroxians are some crazy people when they're drunk, I'll tell you!"

"Didn't you tell us about that one last night?" the man in white questioned.

"No, Samuel, that one was about when we traveled to Port Ferox and ran into that band of dancers. They even had a _man_ dancing with them. What a sight!"

Samuel scratched his red beard, smiling, thinking back to the previous night by the campfire.

"Yeah, that's right. You'll have to save that story for another time then, Brooks, because we're here."

The party approached the tavern, a rowdy din audible from even outside.

"You sure we're headed the right way, Lester?" The taguel asked, dismounting from the paladin's armored horse. "Not even Brooks has been up here before."

"I do believe so, Desmond," Lester replied, dismounting as well. As he tied up his horse on the inn's hitching post, he turned to the two robed men that had been walking beside his mount. "Samuel, Brooks, head on inside and ask the bartender for directions. If I recall from the journeys out here in my youth, Stormguard is only a few miles north of here."

"Alright, old man," Brooks replied. "I'll make sure he has some warm biscuits ready for you when you finally get inside."

"Brooks, please," the paladin buried his face in his hand. "We're the same age."

"Come on, Brooks," the white-robed priest interjected. "We're wasting daylight. Let's go find that innkeeper."

"You want some biscuits too, Sammy? Because I could _really_ go for some right now."

"Only if you do the talking. And please, don't call me that."

The two entered the inn, their playful ranting joining the chorus of merry inn goers. As Lester paid the man in charge of the mount hitching service, Desmond opened his pack. Inside, a purple, glowing gem with swirling, black tendrils beneath its exterior rested. He hoisted the stone into his hands. For something so powerful, it was surprisingly light. Desmond held the piece of his taguel ancestry in his hands, wondering.

"Still dwelling on your Beaststone, Desmond?" Lester called from his left.

Surprised, the taguel quickly stashed the gem, raising an audible crack from one of his vulnerary vials.

"No!" Desmond shouted. Seeing Lester visibly surprised from his sudden outburst, he took a deep breath, and calmed himself. "I mean, no. Just looking at it."

"You mustn't worry yourself, friend," the paladin responded, watching as Desmond stroked his ears, nervously. "Where is your usual upbeat personality?"

Lester paused, watching a pair of birds fly about the snow-topped forest canopy.

"Let's get inside. We're going to need your axe hand rested the further we get into Feroxian territory. If there's one thing I remember from my occasional journeys up here, it's that the Feroxians become more ruthless the further north we travel."

"Probably because of the cold," Desmond said, smirking. "If I was stuck up here I'd probably be an angry berserker too."

Lester smiled, a rare sight indeed for the stoic paladin. "There he is. Welcome back, Desmond. Now, let's go see what Samuel and Brooks have learned over a plate of biscuits. I do believe Brooks said he was buying?"

The taguel laughed, and closed his pack. He and the taller paladin entered the inn, closing the door behind them.

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><p>Fire Emblem: Foreboding Horizons<p>

A Fire Emblem Fiction

Written by Nila_FE

* * *

><p><strong>End note: As I do not currently have a formal editor, please feel free to suggest feedback on my grammar, spelling, punctuation, and writing style. As this story is the first real writing undertaking I've had, any sort of feedback is welcome!<strong>


	2. Prologue - Two Faces

**Note: The next part of the story is up, thankfully! You'll notice this one's a bit longer than the previous. This is around the length I'm aiming for in regards to future chapters.**

**With that out of the way, enjoy the next part of FE:FH! If you notice any errors, unfinished parts, or stray author notes (I do leave them in there sometimes) please let me know!**

**-Nila_FE**

**Arc One: Halidoms and Regnas**

* * *

><p>The black-coated man stood, shaking off lingering feelings of unconsciousness. He put a hand to his temple to stifle the glaring pain still radiating from there.<p>

_"Blood."_

He looked around the area, and visible destruction of a battle was all too apparent. Arrows, abandoned swords, and bodies littered the forest floor. Suddenly, the reality of the situation hit him, and his heart fell to his stomach.

_"My men!"_

The black-coated man took off, desperate to find the unit he was in command of. But the bodies looked all to similar to him. Each was coated in blood, armor tattered, sometimes with body parts severed. Unrecognizable.

The man fell to his knees. He knew this was his fault. He led these mercenaries into battle.

He turned his head. A low groaning rose up out of a pile of corpses.

_"Could it be…?"_

He limped over to the sound. Leaning down, he immediately recognized the woman's body. Dark brown hair and soft, tanned skin, similar to his own yielded her identity. She bore a fresh sword wound across her eyes, and an arrow was buried near her collarbone. Unlike the man's signature hierophant cloak, she wore a set of ebony chain armor, marred by the battle, and carried a regal lance typical of dark riders. Her mount was nowhere to be seen.

The black-coated man turned her over onto her back, and rested her head on his knees.

"Marisa!" he cried out, desperate for her to be okay. "Please, speak to me!"

"Ni—how… how could you? You… you…" she coughed, her whole body spasming. "Y-you led us into this…"

"No, sister, please! I never meant—"

Marisa gasped for air. The man knew that her time was short.

"I-it's all because you wouldn't… wouldn't issue the retreat…. order," she spoke, weakly. "You… you…"

She violently spasmed again, unable to breathe. She reached her hand into the air, as if to grasp some invisible object above her. Yet, the hand weakened, and eventually fell to the ground beside her.

She was dead. Undeniably dead.

The scene around the coated man dissolved into another immediately after Marisa's final breath left her body. His wounds were healed, and his tattered coat had been mended. The forest was now but a distant memory, and Marisa was nowhere to be seen.

He stood atop a large tower, overlooking an expanse of miles on each end. He turned to his sides. Innumerable swordsmen, lancers, mages, and archers stood with him. The chill of the night air cut to the bone.

Atop a set of stairs, an armored man stood. He was not much taller than the coated man or those that stood with him, yet he carried an imposing bastard sword, black as night.

He stared down at the coated man, singling him out from the rest of his party.

"You are a traitor!" the imposing swordsman boomed, in a slightly layered voice.

As he yelled, the scene transitioned again. The background melted away into that of nothingness.

"You're my friend. I trust you," another stated.

"Do you send us to die, tactician?"

"I pledge myself to you, commander. This time, I say as a free man."

"Vanguard, attack!" This time, his own voice carried out into the blackness.

The voices continued, overlapping each other. They became indistinguishable increasing in intensity. The voices seemed to become physical, choking the man. His breathing became labored as the sounds swirled around his neck. The coated man held his neck as the voices grew louder.

"No… no, stop it! NO!"

Suddenly, the voices stopped. The abyss of darkness materialized once again into the familiar Ylissean forest setting. He held his sister's head in his lap.

Marisa, still very much dead, floated off the ground into a standing position in front of the him. She glared at him, the gash across her eyes still dripping with blood.

"I will have my revenge."

* * *

><p>The coated man woke with a start, breathing heavily, sweat dripping from his sleep-disarranged dark brown hair. Reaching for his spellbook, he conjured up a weak spark of fire on his fingertips, lighting his bedside candle. The crimson glow illuminated the walls of his library home.<p>

It took a minute for the man to become readjusted to his surroundings. He was in his bed, in his room, the very same place he had gone to sleep after training in the desert the previous evening. Outside the window, it appeared to be around midnight.

The man was all too familiar with his recurring dream, living out the nightmare that took the lives of his mercenaries and the only other family he had to his name. The voices and her sister vowing revenge were new, however.

"_What did they mean, and why did they appear tonight? I… I don't understand…"_

He sighed. Going to sleep would be an impossibility after a nightmare like that. Rising from the bed, he removed the candle from its place on his bedside table.

"_Perhaps I'll read some more from _Awakening. _If Princess Lissa is as unique as she sounds…"_

Grabbing his coat from the wall hanger, the man descended the spiral stairs towards his study.

The Plegian desert, while sweltering during the day, can become unbearably frigid during the night hours; only becoming far more deadly in the winter seasons. The walls of the man's library tower were fortunately able to retain the day hours' heat, yet this still did not halt the freeze from outside from forcing its way into the home. A chill running down his spine, the man descended the last of the steps into the parlor.

The man pulled his chair from in front of the desk, and lowered himself into the leatherbound seat. He gazed at the globe, candle, and piles of books and scrolls before reaching for the copy of _Awakening_ still resting where he had placed it in the evening. However, he paused. The man sorrowfully looked down at his black coat, highlighted in yellow, and etched in purple symbols of Grima.

"_Mother,"_ he thought, "_This coat has given me nothing but an unbearable responsibility. It is stained in the blood of my sister, my men. Yet you wore it, your mother wore it, and her mother wore it, it goes two generations before that, too."_

"_But why?" _he retorted, to himself.

"_Because a great tactician has worn it too."_

"_How much blood has she herself sullied it with?"_

"_None," _his inner monologue continued. "_Every Shepherd lived. But that wasn't her doing, was it?"_

"_Regardless, you've—_I've _done nothing more than tarnish its name."_

He pushed the copy of _Awakening_ to the very back edge of his desk, then held his head between his hands.

"_What good is a tactician that sends his troops to death?"_

The man rose, his eyes turning towards the threshold of the door, where his weapon rested on its wall hanger. He removed it, and sent an all-too familiar jolt of electricity through it.

"_But this sword… this sword has belonged to no one but me."_

Ashen, also known as the Ashen Levin Sword, was the magical instrument the man himself crafted under the watchful eye of his father. While he used his knowledge of the sword to craft the weapon itself, his mother added the ability to channel lightning magic through it. With the wicked edge of steel, and the danger of electricity, it was a powerful weapon indeed.

"_Can I… can I fix my mistakes? Will this sword help me forge a destiny of my own? Is there any way to put my mistakes to rest?"_

With no answer retorting his statement, he placed the weapon back on its wall hanger, the electrical magic flowing through it coming to rest.

"I suppose I'll just have to wait and see."

* * *

><p>"Stormguard… has fallen?" a surprised Lester gaped, dropping the biscuit he was eating. "T-that is simply not possible! They had the best defenses of any in West Ferox!"<p>

"Believe me, I'm as surprised as you are," Brooks replied, staring down into his lap. The tales I've heard of that town are, well, astounding to say the least."

"The innkeeper is no liar, though," Samuel continued. "The inn's been getting refugees from the town ever since the middle of last night."

"But where are they? Are they still here?" Desmond asked, placing his palms onto the table and standing up. "The people in here seem like regular tavern goers."

The taguel gestured towards the commons of the inn. He was right, most of the people looked like anyone else in a tavern would: dunk, jolly, and with companions. None looked as if they had just weathered a siege.

Samuel turned towards Desmond. "Well, the innkeeper said that most of the refugees wanted to be comforted by their neighbors, so they're holed up in the cellar. I wouldn't go and disturb them, though."

"But we need to figure out if it is still worth the effort to trek up there," Desmond retorted, sitting back down. "We have a job to do. Or, had, I guess."

"Right," Lester interjected. "We were to travel to Stormguard, rally those willing to fight, and continue towards Arena Ferox in preparation for an inevitable invasion. Exalt Spes knew that the East would eventually assault the West, heavily at that, but not this soon."

"Exactly!" Desmond replied, turning towards the paladin, "That's why we need to get to Arena Ferox as soon as possible. The East is probably already on their way as we speak!"

Lester held his hands to silence the agitated taguel.

"Relax, friend. We're still going to Arena Ferox. I just want to check Stormguard for any possible survivors before we move out. Especially one."

"Oh?" Brooks glanced Lester, interest piqued. "Who might this be?"

"No one but an old childhood acquaintance. We talked occasionally when I was in Stormguard on expeditions for my knighthood training. If he's as foolhardy and stubborn as I remember, he might still be there."

As the conversation continued, Samuel surveyed the inn. The scene had hardly changed since Desmond last pointed it out. It was still boisterous, and many were drinking away the morning.

"_Not all too rare of the Ferox, I suppose," _he thought.

The clanging of plates and glasses turned his attention away from the inn's commons. A robed man, with a white head of hair, had gotten up from his table to the immediate left of the booth the troupe of four had been occupying. He turned towards them, hesitantly, and approached them.

"You all..." the man began, placing his left hand on the table's surface. Desmond and Lester's conversation ceased, turning their attention towards the stranger.

"Are you all talking about what happened in Stormguard?" he paused, only continuing after the group had nodded in confirmation.

"I think I might be able to help."

"And you are, sir?" Lester asked.

"The name's Muiris," the stranger replied, sitting on Brooks and Samuel's side of the table, next to Samuel.

Muiris was definitely Feroxian, yet wore a set of traditional black mage robes which showed definite wear from the fall of Stormguard. His gray eyes seemed distant, even tormented, among his newly scarred face. Specks of ash dotted his white hair like pepper in a bowl of salt. The man obviously hadn't slept or bathed since he left the doomed town.

Lester studied the man curiously.

"Have we… have we met before?" he asked.

"No, I'm afraid not, sir. Never seen the likes of you around these parts before."

Muiris paused, staring at the tabletop blankly before continuing his thought.

"And if I were you all, I wouldn't continue through here if I was paid a million gold for it. The place reeks of the East."

"Not to interrupt or anything, Muiris," Desmond said, "But you said you knew of what happened in Stormguard? Tell us everything you know."

"Hmm… oh yes, right." Muiris seemed like he had forgotten his initial reason of joining the party of four to begin with.

"All right, you lot. Let me start from the beginning."

* * *

><p>My sister Carolyn and I were citizens of Stormguard. We grew up there, together. It was quite a nice life. My father fought in the West Feroxian guard, before the two nations divided. My mother was always there for the two of us. We had quite a happy life, even after Father died in a border skirmish with Ylisse and mother from sickness.<p>

That is, until the East came last night. They hit us by surprise, before the guardsman even knew that they were upon us. Before we knew it, burning pitch, ballista bolts, cannonballs, absolutely _everything_ was raining down from the sky. It was a living nightmare. I didn't believe that it was real, even, until the shock of a cannonball tearing through the town street knocked me over.

My sister and I worked to escort most of the citizens out of the city. Most of them made it, too. They're in the cellar. Anyway, she and I got separated after getting some of the kids out. I eventually ran into her when she was looking for a way out. She said she found an alleyway with a hole torn through it, it was to be a perfect escape towards Arena Ferox.

As we searched the merchant building next door for food, though, the unthinkable happened. A sudden ballista shot tore through the upper story of the merchant building we were in, knocking us both to the floor.

"The whole thing's coming down!" Carolyn cried, rising to her feet and grabbing me from the dazed position I was in. We leaped through the building's doorway as the entire second floor collapsed onto where we were standing seconds ago.

We coughed and sputtered as the dirt and dust settled from the building's sudden collapse. The fires had caught up to the section we were in, and the smoke from that mess didn't help much either

I picked myself off the ground, my throat still coated with dust.

"Thanks for the save," I coughed. I then turned my attention to the entrance of the alleyway. "I figure we've gotten enough from that shop. Let's get to the exit."

My sister hoisted herself to a standing position with the help of her spear.

"Right. Let's move."

Carolyn ran ahead, yet stopped at the entrance to the alleyway, dropping her spear.

"Carolyn," I called, confused. I didn't understand why she would stop in front of the alleyway. "What's the—"

We stood, mortified. Where the exit once was was now blocked off by the wreckage of that building!

"Our exit..." Carolyn trailed off. "It's on the other side of that wall. We need to get over there before the Easterners find us and tear us apart!"

"Carolyn, it's alright," I responded, comfortingly. We can find another way out. We need to get to Arena Ferox to get some backup, and quickly!"

"But—"

"We can worry about that later! What's important right now is finding another way out. We're doing no good if we can't even get out of the city before we burn to death."

"Y-you're right." Carolyn picked her spear off of the ground. "Let's have a look around."

As we ran through the desolate streets of Stormguard, Carolyn spoke up again.

"We can't use the main entrances of the town, for sure. The East probably has those blocked off, ready to kill any who come through. We're going to either have to try our luck for another hole like we found earlier or hope that we can survive in this blaze."

As we ran, we looked down the alleyways like the one that we found before, with the hole at the end. None spared us any more holes, though. Carolyn started to think that we were going to have to stay the night in that hellhole. Just then, I had an idea.

"Carolyn," I said, stopping in front of yet another dead-ended alley, "I think I know how to get us out of here. You're going to have to trust me."

She was confused, obviously, but followed me as I ran towards the back of the alley.

"We should be on the western wall of town. If we're lucky, the Easterners wouldn't be smart enough to completely surround us. I think if I put most of my energy into an Arcfire spell, I can bust open this wall."

Of course, she was skeptical because of my incomplete training.

"Muiris, you haven't even learned how to use any Arc-level magic yet. You could hurt yourself, or worse!"

"I know that! But we don't have any choice."

She sighed. She was such a good sister, always trying to look out for me, because of my bum arm. She eventually stepped back and let my try my spell.

For having never used any Arc-spells before, and my more natural affinity with lightning, charging up a bunch of fire like that was pretty challenging. Once the spell was strong enough, I let it rip onto that wall. Fortunately, it worked, but the kickback from the spell was pretty powerful since I'm not entirely sure how to contain that much magical energy yet.

I must have gotten knocked out from the impact. After I came to, I turned, looking desperately for my sister. The explosion from the Arcfire must have caused the charred buildings to collapse while I was out, though, because the the alleyway's entrance was nowhere to be seen. I pressed my head against the wreckage, desperately, and cried out to her.

"Carolyn! Carolyn, are you alright?"

It took a little bit afterwards for her to respond. I can only imagine she was in the same situation I was—knocked out from the blast.

"I… I'm fine. You have to escape, Muiris! Find other refugees and get them to Arena Ferox! I'll see you on the other side!"

* * *

><p>"...and that's all I've got. The Eastern forces fortunately didn't have the west wall surrounded, so I was able to escape towards the forest. After aimlessly walking for a time, I found this place like a lot of the others did. I only came up from the cellar a few minutes ago for some ale and a meal. Haven't been able to sleep all night, either."<p>

The four had listened to Muiris' tale quietly, respectfully. After a long pause, Lester spoke up.

"...I see. I cannot even begin to imagine the pain you've been through today, sir. I have but a few more questions before you go. Might you know the damage done to Stormguard? How much did the Easterners destroy?"

"Based on the two buildings I felled and the one that the ballista knocked over, I'd assume that the whole place has fallen," the mage replied, sadly. "They have plenty of ballistae, cannons, pitch throwers, the whole lot of siege weapons, to go around. A lot more than anyone ever said they had."

"Could they have gotten extra from an ally? Do they actively trade weapons of war with anyone?"

"Couldn't say, friend."

Lester paused, racking his mind for anything else he could ask the stranger.

"This might sound quite… odd, or personal, but do you happen to have a brother? Any other siblings besides your sister."

The man was quiet for a time, looking down at the tabletop with the same blank, hollow expression from before.

"…No. Can't say I do."

Lester scratched his chin in thought for a moment.

"Hmm, I suppose it must simply be a coincidence, then. Anyway, it was an honor meeting you, Muiris." Lester reached out across the table and firmly shook his good hand. "I do hope you reunite with your sister. We will do everything we can to rally forces at Arena Ferox to fight back."

"Thank you, paladin." As Muiris got up from his spot on the bench, he turned and faced the group again. "Oh, if you happen to run into my sister… a little taller than me, light brown hair, hazel-colored eyes, wearing a suit of blue chain armor, carrying a spear… tell her where I am. I'll probably be here a while longer, yet."

"You have my word," Lester replied. With that, the mysterious one-armed mage turned from the table and disappeared around a corner, heading to the cellar.

The table was quiet for some time. None knew how to process the story that the mage had dropped on them. Samuel, however, broke the silence.

"What do we do now? Help me think this through."

"I say we continue to Stormguard as planned," Lester spoke quietly, "If there is a chance at finding that man's sister, I say we take it."

"The only problem with that is she has most likely been captured or killed," Samuel responded, his slightly stern expression shifting to one of sadness.

"_Most likely_, yes, but there is still a chance!" Desmond hopped off of the booth's bench and stood in front of the table. "I'm with Lester. I say we go. Brooks?"

"Might as well," the mage responded. "Your taguel intuition hasn't led me wrong yet!"

"I suppose it's settled, then," Samuel smiled weakly, a rare departure from the priest's stern resting face. "Let's get going and make the most out of this daylight."

* * *

><p>A loud rapping at the black-coated man's doorstep roused him from his desk. The man pushed himself off of the table and refamiliarized himself with his surroundings. His copy of <em>Awakening<em> lay open where his face was resting.

"_I must've dozed off while reading this damn thing,"_ he thought, laughing slightly at the small pool of drool that had formed in between the two open pages. Grabbing a handkerchief from the inside of his coat's pocket, he mopped up the saliva before it could damage the pages further.

The rapping became more urgent, and returned the man to reality. Closing the red-leather book and rising from the chair that had become his place of sleep the previous night, he trudged sleepily towards the door. Opening it greeted him with the presence of five people with various types of armor, their weapons sheathed. The tall, short-haired, dark skinned man wearing dark chainmail at the front of the group spoke first.

"'Morning, sir. We're a traveling group of fighters, and we've been out in the desert all last night. Our food rations have run out. Do you mind sharing?"

The black-coated man blinked, marveling at the slight ridiculousness of the situation before processing what the group needed. He cleared his throat.

"Of course. Please, come inside."

The band of travelers entered, their eyes glancing around the building's tall ceilings, all lined with books. The library was still dimly lit with the candles the man had lit earlier in the morning after his nightmare, providing a slightly gloomy atmosphere in comparison with the bright desert outside.

"...Nice place," the dual sword-wielding man muttered quietly, spending a noticeably longer time nervously inspecting Ashen, affixed to its place on the entrance hallway wall.

"Glad to finally be out of that damned heat," the black armored, wolf skull-wearing man said quietly to himself, dusting off some sand from his armor.

The coated man led the travelers through a door, separating the library and study from the building's small kitchen.

"It's not every day that a group of people survive the desert's winter nights," the coated man spoke, opening his spellbook to light a small fire underneath an iron kettle. "Some unfortunate travelers have literally frozen out there coming ashore from shipwrecks. Not the prettiest sight."

"It was cold, I'll give you that," the heavily armored woman scoffed, taking a spot at the table, "But nothing a few well traveled heroes couldn't handle."

The coated man reached for some tea leaves resting in an opened cabinet.

"What brings you all to the desert? Looking for haven from the wars?" The man placed the leaves in the kettle, a delightful smell wafting up from the opening in the iron container.

"No, just passing through," the armored woman replied, laying her spear against the wall near the window on the other side of the room. "Someone on the outskirts of Plegia sent for us a few weeks ago. Something's stirring over there."

"Someone called for you all specifically? You must be a pretty famous group of mercenaries, then"

"Not mercenaries, no. We're justiciars! The Justice Brigade!" the dark skin man pounded the center of his chest with one first proudly. "I'm Matt. The armored Valmese lady at the table is Valkus, the pretty albino woman over there is Chast," he gestured over to the woman, dressed in purple Falcon Knight vestments, who was searching through the cupboards. She turned with a wave.

"The guy with the wolf skull on his shoulder is Marius, and the swordsman glaring at you is Hunter."

The coated man turned as Matt pointed towards Hunter. Not resting his glare the swordsman spat,

"Of course we had to walk into the den of a _mage_ of all people."

The black-robed swordsman rested his hands on the hilt of his weapon. He was a lithe, muscular man, who had obviously seen the cruel realities of the battlefield. His short, brown hair did little to hide his angered expression in his eyes as he began to draw his swords.

"Now, be _thankful_, Hunter," the albino woman named Chast said, resting a hand on Hunter's shoulder. "This man is the only person around here who has an open door! Show a little respect!"

She had moved from the cupboard, where she had set ingredients upon the kitchen's counter. Despite Chast not being a very imposing person, standing half a head shorter than the angered swordsman, and having very little muscle to show, her red eyes were quite unnerving. Her white hair was pulled neatly into a fox-tail style, in contrast to her stark eyes.

Hunter released the hilts of his swords, frustration still visible on the swordsman's face.

"Fine. As long as _only_ you touch the food, Chast. I still don't trust him."

"Is that alright with you… uhh… hmm, we must have missed your name, sir. And you are?"

"Nila," the black-coated man replied. "Sorry, I must've not mentioned that earlier. I'm not treated to travelers often out here. And no, that's perfectly alright."

* * *

><p>Not but an hour later, Chast had transformed Nila's paltry cupboard into a breakfast the likes of which Nila had never seen before. She had somehow baked several loaves of bread, rolls, and sweet pastries with the sparse amount of food Nila had bought days before. Marius had also left, returning with a massive sea salmon that he had caught in the nearby ocean. Chast was able to fillet the massive fish excellently into several delicious steaks.<p>

"You're going to have tell me how you managed to do this, Chast," Nila laughed, smiling, "I usually manage to screw up hardtack."

"Well, you pick up a lot when you're traveling with three people who can't tell a knife from a spoon and one who is afraid of fire," Chast said, jokingly. Hunter turned his face downward.

"…Is something wrong, Hunter?" Nila asked, concerned. Hunter offered no response, unsurprisingly.

"Oh, sorry…" Chast sighed, her jovial expression quickly turning to one of guilt, "Touchy subject."

As the six turned towards their plates of food, Nila couldn't help but notice how well their group functioned together. They were all different people, separately, but seemed to have a closeness that only hundreds of battles and many years together could forge.

The Dread Fighter Marius traded jokes with Chast across the table. His blue eyes were fiery with happiness, his spiky blond hair further complimenting his joking personality. Seeing a man in dark armor with a wolf skull on his shoulder be as friendly as Marius was undoubtedly unbelievable.

Sitting next to Chast was Valkus, who had since removed her black, gold trimmed plate armor and left it piled next to her chair. Despite being quite muscular, she was undeniably beautiful; unexpected for a no-nonsense armored general. She was quite a contrast for Chast, who lacked feminine curvature entirely.

Next to Marius sat Matt, the dark-skinned bear of a man. He was the leader of the Justice Brigade, as he told Nila while Chast was preparing breakfast, and looked the part. He was deep in conversation with Hunter, actually making him smile a little.

Nila, at the head of the table, quietly dug into his food. It tasted excellent, unlike anything he had ever experienced in his life.

"Who knew salmon would make a good breakfast?" he remarked, cutting off another piece of fish.

"It's Marius' favorite," Chast said from the other side of the table, "He can't get enough of it!"

"Guilty as charged," the Dread Fighter laughed. "I'm not ashamed to admit it, either. Keep it coming!"

The rest of the Brigade snickered. Nila sensed that salmon was probably a running joke in their group.

"How about a story, friends?" Nila asked, wonderingly. "You all must have gone to amazing places in your travels! I hardly leave the library."

"Sounds good to me," Valkus replied. "But before that, tell us a little about yourself, Nila. It's not often we sit down with someone over breakfast like this."

"Ah, I don't have much to tell. I'm pretty average."

"You've gotta have something!" Marius assured. "Everyone has a story."

"Right, and I do. But I'm not sure that it's one that I'd like to recount."

Chast turned from her plate, interest piqued.

"C'mon, tell us!"

Nila sighed, resting his temple against his fingertips.

"Alright, fine. What would you all like to know?"

The four interested in Nila thought for a moment. Matt, idea in hand, turned towards the coated man.

"Well, what do you do? Have you a job, profession, maybe?"

"I don't really do anything important anymore," Nila recounted, "But I used to draw up tactics for a Plegian mercenary group under my father. That was a couple of years ago, though. Since then I've lived here, studying, lending books out to those who still bother reading around here. Not much else."

"You're a tactician, then?" Matt asked.

"_A shoddy, terrible one."_ Nila thought. He quickly pushed the thought from his mind.

"I suppose so, yeah. It's just been books for me for these last few years. No combat experience to speak of since… then."

"Interesting, I can't say I've met a dedicated tactician before. Do you fight much, or just strategize?"

"I used the traditional 'outsmart your opponent' style. Sword and tome. You've probably heard of it, I imagine."

"Yeah, I use it too!" Marius said, joining the conversation. The black-armored man pointed towards the katana strapped to his side, with what appeared to be a snake wrapped around it.

"I've always been pretty good at magic. Wanted to be a mage back in the day, actually! Things started going down in my town when a bunch of dark mages showed up, though, so I took up the sword and fought them with my inherent magic resistance!"

Marius leaned back in his chair, sighing happily.

"Since then, my sword Zin has been at my side and I've fought for justice with these good fellows!"

The Justice Brigade erupted into laughter.

Matt grabbed Marius and put him into a headlock, still laughing monstrously.

"You know it, little buddy!"

As the table quieted down, Nila pressed the conversation further.

"Where did you grow up, Marius?" he asked. "Couldn't be anywhere near Plegia, I don't think. Dark mages don't really do much raiding around here. It's actually pretty peaceful compared to the past."

"Nope, nowhere near here, actually. I hate the heat. Born and raised in good old Regna Ferox! Well… not so good anymore, actually, with the whole Divide War situation going on."

"Ferox? What town?" Nila continued, unfazed by the mentioning of the war.

"Little old place called Stormguard, pretty close to Strester and the Arena. Just west of the Longfort. There was always an adventure in store around there, what with forests for miles around the place."

"I can imagine! It's been some time since I've left the desert, and I've never been to Ferox. I might have to make a trip up there sometime."

The Dread Fighter's expression quickly changed to one of sorrow.

"Well, you'd best wait a little bit. The Divide War isn't getting any less deadly, and the East has never really been supportive of tourism."

The table was quiet for a moment as the six finished their morning meal.

"You said you were a tactician once, right Nila?" Valkus began. "I recognize the coat style. Robin's right? Big fan?"

"Yes, actually, but the coat isn't in honor of him. It's a family heirloom."

Nila looked down at his coat again. It appeared clean, but all the blood tarnishing it…

"Wait, you're telling me you're related to the greatest tactician who ever lived? _The _Robin?"

The entire table, bar Hunter, gaped.

"Well… sort of. You're all familiar with Morgan, right? She's my great-great-grandmother."

"That still doesn't change the fact that you're related to the hero-tactician, though. Wasn't she his daughter? You don't look much like either of them do in paintings, but…" Valkus trailed off, unsure what to continue her point with.

"Yeah, I thought Robin's daughter had red hair," Chast recalled.

"No, no. Not that Morgan." Nila thought for a moment, then added,

"Well, she had red hair too, the one who traveled through time. That's the Morgan I'm related to. Not this timeline's Robin and Morgan. I'm not great with the whole idea of multiple timelines, it's a pretty complex system. I consider the two separate people. I think of it more like… spiritually related."

"That's still pretty cool, though!" Chast smiled at the ex-tactician. "Morgan was pretty great in her own right. Both of them."  
>"Yes… I suppose they were."<p>

The table was quiet for some time after witnessing Nila's sudden downcast expression upon mentioning his ancestor. Clearing his throat, Nila continued.

"But enough about me. You all promised a story, right? Marius had a pretty good one, so I plan to hear one from you all before you walk out of here!"

Hunter, surprisingly, spoke up immediately, his attention was affixed to the window on the other side of the room.

"Do you see those people, out there? Is that normal around these parts?"

Nila rose from the table, rushing towards the window.

"Oh no. They actually…"

"Nila?" Chast asked, worried, "Is everything alright?"

"No, everything isn't alright! They're coming… around thirteen or so, maybe, from what I can see…"

"Who are they, Nila?" Matt questioned. "They're carrying the banner of Ylisse. Are you a criminal?"

"The only crime I've committed is my birthright! No, those are the Sons of Naga, an—"

"—An Ylissean supremacist group, right," Valkus interrupted, standing. "Why are they targeting you?"

"Well, they don't usually take too kindly to Plegians in general. I've fought them before with the mercenaries. But I'm also a Fellblood. Being related to Morgan and all, but that doesn't mean anything after Grima's demise."

Nila clenched his fists in anger. "They've been sending death threats for years, and last week they wrote that they'd come for my head, but I never imagined…"

"Good thing we got here when we did," Matt replied comfortingly, laying a hand on Nila's shoulder. "Because we're the Justice Brigade! We fight for justice, and that cult has no honor from what I've heard. Using Naga's good name to murder innocents is inexcusable!"

Matt unsheathed his axe, raising it towards the ceiling. He turned to his brigade.

"Chast, Valkus, Hunter, Marius! To arms! Today, we fight! For justice!"

"For justice!" the brigade chanted. The five heroes sprinted towards the door, ready to face the adversaries marching upon the library.

Nila hesitantly followed, reaching for his spellbook resting upon his desk, and removing Ashen from the wall, clutching the gray blade firmly in his hand. Sparks began to fly from the blade's wicked edge as he followed the Justice Brigade to battle.

Exiting the library, the coated man noticed the whole of the forces that the Sons of Naga had sent had lined up in formation, their advance halted. They had brought exactly twelve fighters.

_"Enough to overwhelm me, yet few enough to travel covertly. Cunning. But where did the thirteenth go?"_

Nila immediately noticed Matt was mounted upon a massive wyvern, speaking with someone from the Sons' forces.

"_Where the hell did he hide that thing all morning?"_

Close behind, Chast sat upon a great white Pegasus, similarly as confounding Nila, while the other three Brigadiers remained distant; yet, they were ready to strike at a moment's notice. Nila noticed Valkus had found the javelin rack laying beside his house, and was testing the weight on the throwing spear. However, Valkus looked slightly different than before; what it was, Nila could not lay a finger upon.

Nila approached the three, noticing Matt was arguing with a mounted women, wearing traditional Ylissean ranger garb: blue cured leather with golden plating adorning the shoulders and gloves. Her face was hidden behind a similarly colored bandana and hood. She appeared to be the leader of the Sons' forces, her appearance separating her from that of her followers. Making himself subtle, he took a position next to Valkus.

"Valkus? Did you—"

"Did I what?" she replied, confused.

At that moment, Nila finally noticed why Valkus looked different from when they had first met.

"You forgot your armor."

The general looked down, and laid her head in her hands.

"Oh, gods damn it. I need to go back for it, but—"  
>"Actually, don't. On sandy terrain, being lighter on your feet will serve you better. You still have your shield, though, which should be protection enough.<p>

Nila turned back to where the two leaders were arguing, their voices clearly not on the topic of peace.

"I don't think we're getting out of this scrape without a fight."

"Ah, I see you've led the rat out of his little hole, wyvern rider. I give you my thanks for that." It was not Valkus who reciprocated his statement, but the mounted woman Matt had been arguing with earlier. She had silently strode over to where the four had been standing.

"Justice for that man is not yours to allot, dastard," Matt threatened, following her and positioning his wyvern between the ex-tactician and the Sons' commander.

"He has done no wrong and deserves no punishment," Chast proclaimed, approaching on her Pegasus. Her childlike personality had all but evaporated. "If you disagree, you'll have to deal with all of us."

"You still don't get it, do you?" The ranger raised the golden-metal longbow that was strapped to the side of her mount.

"You're all blind to the fact that this dog is a Fellblood," she said, scowling at the name, "A child of the demon Grima. He deserves to die like all the others of his kind we've killed."

She backed up her horse, a vicious-looking black steed, positioning herself behind the encroaching squad of Sons.

"If you disagree, I will not hesitate to let my men on you. Those who assist demons like him deserve to die as traitors to the halidom. Well? What say you?"

"I say you're a butcher and murderer, doling out vigilante justice," Matt countered, "What good has your 'halidom' done for the rest of the world? Is closing your gates to the rest of the world good enough for you?"

"I recommend you withdraw those words, craven, lest I set my soldiers upon you." The ranger grimaced at Matt's insult, obviously displeased with the state of their nation as well.

"Looks like I've stuck a nerve," the dark-skinned man chuckled, "Why don't you put your sword where your mouth is?"

The ranger smirked, nocking an arrow.

"Sons of the divine dragon! Children of the halidom! Bring me their heads!"

At their leader's command, the enemy forces cheered, weapons held high, and charged the party, their eyes burning with hatred. Their leader retreated to a safer position behind the front line of units.

Matt leveled his axe to his chest.

"Twelve on six, huh? That's hardly fair."

Right on cue, two golden javelins soared across the desert sands, glinting in the fierce sunlight. Their blades pierced directly into the chests of two mages, felling them instantly.

"Perfect timing. Thank you, Valkus, you're a gem."

Matt turned towards the incoming enemy, a knowing gleam in his eye.

"Alright. You all know what to do. Give 'em hell."

* * *

><p>At Matt's call the Brigade roared with vigor and charged towards the fray. Valkus, however, hung back as she might have had she been fully armored.<p>

"Valkus," Nila called, churning electricity through Ashen, "You're lighter on your feet now! Use your strength and speed to overpower the enemy!"

"Got it!" she called back, readying her massive black and gold kiteshield, spear pointed forward.

"Focus on the ones with swords. Get up close and personal with them before they can sidestep you!"

"Thanks, tactician! See you in the fray!" With that, the lancer hurdled towards the open desert with newfound speed.

_Tactician._ Nila had not heard those words in years. Focusing, the man sized up the battlefield, noticing the group of twelve was composed of two archers, four mages—two of whom were impaled with spears—two swordsmen, an axe fighter, two pegasus knights, and the bow knight leader, all wearing traditional Ylissean vestments. Chast and Matt had already taken to the skies, trading blows with the two enemy fliers.

The fray on the ground was more spread out, the three groundborne justicars hesitating in front of the enemy lines. The Sons of Naga had paused, too, their leader far behind the group guarded by the axe-wielding fighter and a mage. Nila rushed to join his three companions.

"Hunter, get into range before that archer over there can let his bow fly. Marius, get in close to the mage and absorb his spells. Valkus will deal with the ones with the swords. I'll pick off any stray fighters."

The three nodded, readying their weapons. Marius unsheathed his snake sword, Hunter his twin steel blades, and Valkus held her spear at the ready.

"What are you lot waiting for?" the bow knight at the back barked, letting an arrow fly. "Kill them!"

The Sons sprang into action once again. Archers let arrows fly with no discrimination at the group, and the mages readied weak thunder magic while the swordsmen charged forward. The axe wielder and the mage remained stalwart at their leader's side.

The group of four split off, Nila rushing headlong towards one of the two swordsmen. Their blades clashed, the Ylissean flinching as his sword conducted Ashen's electricity. Nila attempted to lacerate the swordsman's side, but was met with a swift parry and kick to the chest. The tactician crashed forcefully into the desert sands, his sword flying from his hand. The blade's electricity faded.

The enemy swordsman readied his sword to plunge into the Nila's chest, the tactician barely rolling to the side to dodge the blade. Unclipping the spellbook from his belt, he quickly opened the book to a random page.

The spell detailing Nosferatu met his gaze. Channeling from the tome, Nila launched the black mass of energy into the swordsman's unsuspecting side. The swordsman screamed in agony, while the pain from his earlier kick tapered off from the magic's effect. The coated man reached for the sword, energy beginning to flow through the blade once more. He thrusted his blade through the swordsman's side, felling the Ylissean.

Nila readjusted to his surroundings. Valkus was duelling the second Ylissean swordsman, her barreling strength overwhelming him. She slammed her shield into his chest, sending him flying back before plunging her spear into the man's chest.

Nearby, Marius had caught the attention of the mage not guarding their leader. He rushed towards the unsuspecting spellcaster, shrugging off her thunder spells as if they were nothing.

Hunter barreled into one of the two archers, who had given up on using her bow offensively. Instead, she used the metal weapon to block the swordmaster's unyielding strikes. Hunter fought with a fury Nila had never seen before.

"I'll notify your next of kin!" the swordsman yelled, bringing both of his swords down together on the center of the archer's bow. The weapon shattered, leaving the Ylissean woman defenseless as Hunter ran her through with his blades.

The tactician glanced towards a dune, where he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. The second archer, who had made himself scarce since the beginning of combat, had positioned himself upon the top of the dune, nocking an arrow pointed towards Hunter. His back was turned to the archer, recovering after his bout with the female archer.

Nila turned the pages of his spellbook to the final entry. The page illustrated the Ruin spell, the most advanced spell he knew. Dark energy erupted from his hands.

"Get a load of this!" the tactician shouted, his voice rising above the clamor of aerial combat. Yellow runes glowed in the air around the black-coated man finished the spell. Similar runes appeared around the unknowing archer, who had no time to react before the cross of dark energy overwhelmed him. As the darkness centered around the blast cleared, the archer lay dead, his body badly burned.

Nila panted, falling to his knees. The spell had taken an extreme amount of energy to fire, not any amount that the tactician was used to. Turning his head toward the sky. The battle between the flying justicars and the pegasus-bound Sons had all but diminished. The four fought, trading blows as jousters would on the ground.

Chast guided her pegasus around, turning towards the pegasus rider that had just traded a blow with Matt. She commanded her mount to dive, rushing towards the briefly stunned flier. Before the enemy could command her winged steed to turn, Chast impaled her lance through the pegasus' wing, sending it spiraling down into the desert sands. Noticing Nila upon the ground, she rode her pegasus towards the man, landing at his side.

"Here, let me get you back up," she said, reaching for the green orb-topped wooden staff strapped to her back. Raising it into the air, she coated Nila with a soothing green light.

"Thanks," he replied, energy returning to him. "Nice work up there."

"And to you down here! You'd better be quick if you want to help finish off their leader. The three of them look like they're having all the fun!"

Chast pointed towards the location where the bow knight and her bodyguards had been positioned earlier. Marius had moved on from the knight he was dueling earlier, and was now face to face with the magus that was guarding their leader earlier.

Hunter, having recovered from his bout with the female ranger, had barreled into the axe fighter, abusing his innate advantage over his opponent's choice of weapon. The fighter could not keep up with Hunter's furious strikes, and fell quickly to sideswipe from the swordmaster.

Valkus, however, was not as lucky as her two friends. The bow knight pelted the unfortunate knight with a barrage of golden arrows, circling around her.

"You'd better go help her," Chast continued. "I'll help Matt take down the other Pegasus Knight."

The purple-clothed rider tightened her mount's reins.

"Justice, let's go!" With that, the rider sailed into the sky to assist Matt, still, challenged by the pegasus wearing armor emblazoned with the Brand of the Exalt and her rider.

Nila flipped the pages of his spellbook and readied an Elwind spell, charging towards the bow knight and Valkus. Noticing the tactician's advance, the Sons' leader hoisted the greatsword from her back, knocking over the unarmored knight with the flat of her sword. She turned to face Nila, arrow at the ready.

"I am Grand Ranger Kayla, second-in-command of the Sons of Naga. And I will be your end, Fellblood."

Kayla let her nocked arrow fly, Nila reacting just in time to divert its path with a swift usage of Elwind. Before he could ready another Elwind, the bow knight had already let another arrow fly, barely missing the tactician's right shoulder. Completing the Elwind, he let the crescents of wind fly, connecting directly with the mounted ranger.

The bow knight winced as the wind spell cut into her. She reached for another arrow, but her quiver had emptied from her earlier assault on Valkus. Cursing, she placed the massive longbow into its holder on the side of her mount and drew her gold highlighted steel greatsword.

"This ends here, demon," Kayla roared, ignoring the pain of the wind spell. "I will cut you down myself!"

The bow knight charged towards the tactician with blazing speed. She recklessly swung the massive weapon like a club. Nila barely dodged the hit, rolling to the side as the massive blow swung through where he had been standing earlier.

As Kayla charged through, she smirked. Unsheathing a throwing dagger from her belt, she tossed the blade with deadly accuracy into the back of Nila's thigh. The tactician cried out with pain, falling to the ground. He tore the weapon from his body, screaming once again, before turning the pages in his book to the Nosferatu spell. He launched the black mass at the ranger, who had begun another charge towards the downed tactician. The spell collided with Kayla's horse, who had no time to redirect its headlong rush to either side.

The horse whinnied before keeling over in pain, dropping her into the desert sands. Kayla skidded a distance in the sand, before rolling on her side a ways before stopping. Before Nila coult think to react, a large, white rune appeared on the ground beneath the horse and her rider.

Kayla spat blood from her mouth, scowling at the downed tactician.

"The next time we meet, Fellblood, it won't be on unholy ground. And when we do, I will kill you."

The ranger sheathed her greatsword, and disappeared in a brilliant flash of light.

* * *

><p>Nila coughed, dust settling from the effects of the rescue staff. The Nosferatu that Nila damaged the horse with had been strong enough to close the wound from Kayla's throwing knife, but the pain had not diminished entirely.<p>

Glancing around the battlefield once again, Nila saw Marius standing over the body of the second mage, triumphantly. Hunter was helping Valkus stand up, while Chast was healing the two of them. Matt had dismounted his wyvern and rushed to Nila's side.

"Nila!" the dark-skinned wyvern lord cried, "You alright?"

The tactician winced as he attempted to stand up.

"Yeah, I'm alright. That bow knight was no joke, though."

Matt lended Nila a hand, hoisting the coated man to his feet.

"Tough battle, wasn't it? Haven't fought enemies that strong in a long time. Bob was pretty riled up, too."

"Bob?" Nila asked, confused.

"Oh, he's my wyvern," Matt deadpanned.

"You had all the options in the world to name your wyvern, and you named him Bob."

"What? I like the name. I think it suits him."

"…I think I need a healer. I must be going insane."

Matt turned to Chast, off in the distance.

"Chast, Nila needs some healing!" the dark-skinned man yelled, laughing slightly.

Hearing the leader of the Justice Brigade, the Falcon Knight quickly flew over to where the two were standing, bathing Nila in green healing light. The tactician sighed, comfortedly.

"Thanks again, Chast."

She smiled, and said, "No problem! That's what I do!"

The other three members of the Justice Brigade cleared the hill, joining Nila and the two justicars.

"Whew, that was intense!" Marius hoisted his snakebound sword above his shoulder. "I really needed to stretch my sword hand."

"Well, you'll get another chance," Nila said, sheathing Ashen and clipping his spellbook to his belt. "Their leader got away. They had a rescuer posted somewhere nearby. No doubt that the two of them are long gone by this point."

"I think I know where she might be going," Matt stated, "She matched the description of the woman who had been leading Ylisseans in Plegian border villages. She probably took a detour up here to deal with you before continuing to her original destination."

"Original destination, as in—"

"The town of the man who requested our aid a few weeks ago, yeah," Valkus interrupted. "We'd best head over there before that ranger has time to rally forces."

Nila smiled, and extended his hand towards the general.

"It was an honor fighting with you all. I'm glad I could offer what services I could. Good luck out on the field, I'm rooting for you!"

Valkus stared at Nila's outstretched hand before bursting into laughter.

"Oh, you think you're staying here! Cute. No, you're coming with us, you idiot! We need a skilled strategist like you out there."

"Me? But I'm—"

Marius giggled, wrapping his arm around the coated man's shoulders, burying his hand between his thumb and index finger as if he was in deep thought.

"Hmm… let's see. You told us which people to fight, killed two of those guys, and went toe to toe with their leader. And you're telling us that you're not good enough to join us?"

"Well—"

"Given, we probably would have fought the people that we did anyway, but you look like you know what you're doing. C'mon, what do you say?" Marius unlatched himself from the stunned tactician.  
>"Erm…"<p>

Nila debated internally.

"_Nila, this is a chance to redeem your mercenaries!" _one part of him urged.

"_But you could lead these people to their doom, just as you did before. History has a way of repeating."_

"_If you're looking for your chance, now is the time to take action."_

"Alright. I'm in."

"Good man!" Matt clapped his shoulder. Looking around Nila examined the faces of the Brigadiers. Valkus and Chast stood next to each other, smiling gently at him. Marius held two thumbs up, grinning widely. Hunter didn't seem too upset with the decision, either. Matt held the coated man's shoulder, laughing boisterously.

"Welcome to the team!"

* * *

><p><strong>Barracks<strong>

**No.001 Nila**

A resident of Plegia and descendent of one of the famous time travelers of Ylisse's past, Morgan. Although weakly, he carries the same blood of Grima used to revive the fell dragon generations ago. He was a tactician in the past, with a unique ability in Shadowgift and a refashioned Levin Sword, Ashen.

The most likely fall asleep while reading.

Born on December 20th, age 24.

**No.002 Matt**

The leader of a group of fighters known as the Justice Brigade. He brought the group together after he and Hunter fled Matt's devastated city in Western Ferox, one of the first Western settlements destroyed by the marauding nation. His confident personality is what the Justice Brigade's foundation is made of, yet he holds doubts of his own sometimes.

The one who slouches the most.

Born on January 2nd, age 21.

**No.003 Hunter**

A Feroxian duelist with a deadly mastery of swordplay. He has lived in not one, but two villages that have been razed by magic-wielding bandits or conquesting Easterners. The loss of his sister invoked a keen sense of justice within him and a fear of magic and fire.

The least fond of parlor tricks.

Born on January 25th, age 22.

**No.004 Chast**

An Ylissean Falcon Knight with a unique appearance of albinism. Her likewise albino father worked as a guard in Ylisse's royal army, yet advised his daughter not to join the cavalry. She took up work as a mercenary, and eventually met Matt after he saved her life.

The one with the scariest glare.

Born on October 29th, age 17.

**No.005 Marius**

A unique fighter hailing from Stormguard. Initially striving to be a scholar, Marius studied magic diligently throughout his childhood. However, he shifted priorities when bands of rogue dark mages attacked the settlement. After training in swordplay and axemanship, he joined the enthusiastic Justice Brigade.

The one with the worst sense of humor.

Born on April 1st, age 20.

**No.006 Valkus**

A Valmese quartermaster who tolerates nonsense of no kind. After a false claim of fraudulence, she chartered a ship to Ylisse's continent. She joined the Justice Brigade after falling to them in a battle to mete out justice for herself and others. How her personality meshes with the jovial brigade is a mystery.

The most likely to enjoy taking inventory.

Born on March 25th, age 28.


	3. Chapter 1 - Passage of Time

**Hey everyone! I'm alive!**

**Yes, I'm alive and kicking, thankfully. Life's been in the way of my writing for some time now, and this chapter has been sitting in the "almost finished stage for nearly a month. But here it is! As always, if you spot any errors let me know since my editing may have been rushed to get this one out here for you all.**

**Important thing to note: the barracks will appear at the bottom of the page after every chapter. If a unit dies, their description will be replaced by "Died in _." And if a timeskip occurs or someone's birthday goes by, their age will be increased by the amount of years passed or by one respectively.**

**Anyway, enjoy the newest chapter of Fire Emblem: Foreboding Horizons... Passage of Time! Mostly worldbuilding, but very important worldbuilding for the rest of the story to make much sense at all. More action to come very soon, I promise!**

**Also, I've had this strange problem lately where I mix up the names of Desmond and Lester for some reason. They're not alike at all, so it's a pretty strange problem. If you see anything strange there, please let me know!**

**I'm done now. Enough talk, enjoy the chapter! All criticism is recommended and encouraged.**

**As always,**

**- Nila_FE**

* * *

><p>Heavy snowfall and wind blew violently into the small lecture hall's lone window, threatening to tear the fragile pane from the wall. A lone candle illuminated the room, undisturbed by the howling gale outside, and casted an ominous glow onto its surroundings.<p>

From the hallway outside, an older man and a younger woman clambered into the dim room, the man slamming the bar latch into position, sealing the two inside. While the two regained their composure, frightening shouts echoed down the corridor.

"…that way…!"

"…can't let them escape…!"

"…there is nowhere for you to run any longer…"

The red-cloaked girl panted in exhaustion, while the black-robed mage held his tall, dark mage hat low to conceal his eyes.

"Are you alright, Esthara?"

After her panting began to taper down, she met her mentor's gaze.

"I—I'm fine, professor,"

"Are you certain you're okay, my dear? Because if my eyes did not fail me during our encounter…"

The professor gently moved Esthara's scarlet cloak to the side, revealing a bloody gash in her oblique. Blood still flowed idly, staining the fabric of her simple white underblouse.

"It is as I expected. You must let me treat your wound," the professor said, concernedly.

"We don't have time!" Esthara exclaimed, "They're still coming…"

"We have plenty of time to not ignore basic medical procedure," he responded, removing a roll of bandages from a drawer in his desk.

"Best to not allow the risk for death on two fronts. In a perilous situation such as this, it is wise to—"

"—minimize the risk of fatality as much as possible." the wounded girl finished. "From your lecture, three days ago."

"Ah, I knew there was a reason you are my top student, Esthara."

The graying professor smiled warmly, his blue eyes appearing a dull gray in the dim candlelight, a similar shade to that of Esthara's natural eye color.

"Now, let me take care of that injury of yours…"

The professor tightly wound the bandage fabric around Esthara's still bleeding wound, halting the gash's flow of blood. She winced as the pressure from the bandage disturbed her injury.

"Much better. Now we can deal with the more threatening situation at hand," the professor observed, placing his gray bearded chin in his hand, assuming a standard thinking position.

"I trust you already know exactly who our adversaries were this dreadful night."

Esthara nodded.

"Yes… but I don't understand why, Professor. Those people were our friends just yesterday!"

The professor responded with a knowingly sad tone.

"I agree, it is quite concerning that the local guard has turned against us in such a short period of time. But this sudden incursion reveals quite a large amount of information."

He approached the blackboard at the end of the room, and erased his previously drawn images of battle coordination from the lecture earlier in the day.

"It… reveals something?" Esthara pondered.

"Quite right. And I believe you've already deduced what it is. But you probably are not fond of the result."

"I have, but I don't want to believe it is true, professor. It _can't_ be true. It can't possibly!"

"Unfortunately, we must make this assumption. The evidence pointing towards it is insurmountable. I am not enamored with this situation myself either, but we must recognize it before we can figure out exactly what to do about it."

"Ylisse has fallen," Esthara uttered in monotone.

"Indeed."

The professor's expression became grave as he turned away from his student. He began sketching an image of a person onto the freshly erased surface. His old hand danced across the surface with vigor, creating an astoundingly realistic representation in quite a short amount of time.

"This man, Esthara," the professor began, calmly, "Can you remember this man's face?"

"I haven't seen it before, if that's what you're asking."

"No, no. I need you to memorize it for me."

"I… I think I can do that. Why are you asking me to do this, professor?"

"Because it is imperative that you find this man, Esthara."

The professor swiveled agilely around on one foot, surprising from his old age, gazing intently at his student.

"This man's name is Lester, Knight of Blackwood. You should be able to find him at Arena Ferox in several days' time."

"But—"

The professor interrupted, "Please, let me finish before you ask questions. Time is of the essence at the moment."

"I apologize. Please continue."

The professor cleared his throat before continuing.

"You must travel to Arena Ferox. If the details do not escape me, he should be traveling with two other humans and a taguel, en route to Ferox. Find him and ask him for his help. If you mention my name, he should understand the situation.

"If Ylisse has indeed fallen, as we have deduced, you must remember this phrase if you are to blend in: 'I live to serve her divinity.'"

"Isn't that—"

"Indeed. You understand which group this phrase belongs to, as I expected. Tell that to the wagon driver early tomorrow morning whilst slipping him the fare. He should bring you directly to Arena Ferox, if you ask. Just remember to keep the hood on you cloak low, just in case."

The professor paused as he ended his instructions.

"Have you any questions?"

A look of concern grew on Esthara's face.

"Just one, sir. Why are you telling me all of this? Aren't you coming with me?"

The professor shook his head, frowning.

"Alas, I cannot, my dear girl. Someone must stay behind to deal with these gentlemen."

"Gentle? Hardly…" Esthara muttered quietly under her breath before exclaiming, "But I don't know how I can make it out there on my own! Why can't you come with?"

"They know my identity, Esthara. But the only five that know who you are are in this very building."

"We can take them on together, then! I need you!"

The professor approached his student, kneeling down in front of her. His usual towering height disappeared, becoming just barely shorter than Esthara's smaller figure. He took her hands in his own.

"You are nineteen years old now, Esthara, more than old enough to travel on your own. Unfortunately, this must be done if you are to be safe from the perils that await out there."

"But—"

"Remember this for me. What is the very first lesson that I taught? The first phrase I said before beginning your education?"

Esthara pondered momentarily, the answer coming to her quickly. She closed her eyes as she recalled the exact situation.

"A good tactician has nothing to fear."

The professor grinned.

"That's my girl. My grandfather learned from the greatest to have ever lived, and I have learned from him. I've passed nearly everything down to you, and it is time to put that knowledge to work, my dear. I have utmost faith in you."

Tears welled up in Esthara's eyes as she received the praise from her mentor, who was not one to idly compliment his students.

"Thank you, professor. That means a lot to me."

"I mean every word of it. Now, have you Mercurius?"

Esthara grasped the red fabric adorning the ancient blade's hilt, and nodded.

"I do."

"Excellent. That blade will be an important ally in your travels to come. You may have not been able to comprehend magic, but your swordplay is second to none."

"Thank you, sir. Anything else I need to know?"

The professor thought for a brief moment before adding, "It is a strategist's duty to preserve the lives of their allies. This I have done for you, and you must also do this for those you befriend in the future. You mustn't worry yourself. Everything is going to be alright, on my word."

As the professor spoke, the murmurs from the hallway finally converged onto the haven the two had taken from the assault.

"…they're in here, Mal! On your orders…!"

"Are they? Stand back…"

The head of a wicked red axe cut widly through the flimsy wooden barrier, wooden shards splintering and clattering against the floor. The door inexplicably managed to hold from the first assault, yet it still threatened to splinter under the force of the next blow. The axeman attempted to pull the handle out, yet experienced some difficulty removing the blade.

"It seems that they have found found us. Quickly, to the window!"

The aged mage quickly drew an Arcthunder from his spell tome, and summoned two massive bolts of lightning in front of the glass pane. The sturdy brick wall and more fragile glass shattered under the power of the spell, sending brick and glass splinters in every direction.

"I promise you, I will be fine! Go, now!"

The student nodded, sprinting to the exit as her simple brown boots became punctured by the debris. Before approaching the threshold, she turned to take one last look at her mentor.

The wild gales of wind blew in from outside, causing her cloak to billow out around her. Her two long braids of blonde hair, normally resting in front of her shoulders, were picked up by the storm and blown violently in all directions.

She put one hand to her chest, closing it into a fist. She turned from the professor, trudging as quickly as she could through the snow banks into the wintery unknown as shots of powerful magic rang out from the building behind her.

* * *

><p>Nila reentered his library home, the Justice Brigade tailing behind him. He brushed the sand from his hair, surprisingly more than he had anticipated, dusting the red carpet of the entrance hall with a thin layer of yellow. He placed his purple-highlighted gray blade on its wall hanger before turning towards his new companions.<p>

"I need a few minutes to prepare. Make yourselves at home."

"As if we hadn't done that already," Marius snickered, charging into the foyer. He leaped headfirst into the embrace of the sole couch set up near the staircase.

"Don't break anything, Marius," Nila laughed, "The furniture is very expensive."

"I'll say," the Dread Fighter spoke into the fabric of the couch, "It's very comfortable."

Shaking her head in disbelief, Valkus opened the door to the kitchen in search of her missing armor.

"Not too long," she called, an audible clanging emanating from the room. She had obviously found what she was looking for.

"We'll need to get moving quickly if we're to catch up with the ranger."

"Right. I'll only need a minute or two," responded Nila, ascending the spiral staircase into his chamber. At the top of the steps, the coated man twisted the knob and entered the small room.

The room was the same as he had left it before dawn; the white bedsheets had been strewn across the mattress after the events of his nightmare. However, the candlestick's flame had since dwindled to tiny embers. Next to the bed was a large pile of books resting upon the red carpet that had been neglected and remained unshelved for several nights. The midday sun shone through a crack, illuminating a sole book on an otherwise empty bookshelf adjacent to a full body mirror.

The coated man picked up the candlestick's golden base before blowing the dying flame out and setting it back down. Turning his attention to the pile of books, he dug in through the tomes, eventually placing three of them on the mattress.

Robin's _Basic Guide to Battle Strategy_ and _Advanced Tactics_ lay upright upon the surface. Another, _Subterfuge in Strategy_, was placed near them as well. It written millennia upon millennia ago by Marth's tactician, Katarina, yet was still quite relevant in modern tactics. Making a mental note to bring _A Treatise on Tactics and Advanced Military Coordination_ with him too, Nila strode across the room and collected a small pack from the room's corner, placing the three tomes inside among a quill and sealed inkwell as well as travel necessities.

Hoisting the pack upon his back, Nila slowly walked to the door. He reached out to turn the knob again to exit the room, yet paused. Placing the pack upon the floor, he stepped across the floor, stopping in front of the near empty bookshelf. He brushed his fingers on the lone blue book upon the shelf, clearing a thin layer of dust away from the tome. The text on the white label on the book's surface had since faded, but Nila knew the contents all too well.

"_My old poetry book,"_ Nila thought, turning the brittle pages to the last entry. The ink had faded almost completely since he last wrote in between the pages, but what he wrote was still fresh in his mind. Out of frustration, Nila slammed the covers shut and tossed the brittle tome onto his unmade bed, remembering exactly why he had stopped writing poetry in the first place. He fell to his knees.

"Marisa… I'm—"

"It's alright, brother," a voice responded to him. He turned towards the mirror out of disbelief, but a figure that was not his own replaced his reflection.

His sister, standing upright, appeared in the glass. She smiled sadly at him, her still-scarred amber eyes welled up with tears. She was similar to Nila, with similar eye color, dark brown hair, and height. Even the blouse she wore was similar in color to Nila's coat, the very same one she wore before she was killed. Yet, she seemed mature beyond her days, a trait Nila did not remember her possessing.

Nila blinked, and stuttered, "S-sister? But I thought—"

He broke off. Marisa's visage was gone. Nila spoke only to the sad, crumpled reflection of his own keeling over on the floor. The coated man righted himself before giving another suspicious glance at the mirror. His sister still did not appear, only his saddened and confused face stared back at him.

Mentally chalking the phenomenon up as a product of his overactive imagination, Nila stepped towards the sheets he threw his book upon. The tome was open to pages not yet written in: blank, pristine, waiting to be filled with words. Lifting the book into his hands, he turned the pages back towards the faded verse he had written for his passed sister and make a note to rewrite the verse he had written so long ago. He thought over it again, tears threatening to spill onto the delicate, brittle pages.

Shutting the tome gently, he carried it to the pack he had abandoned near the door, dropping it in among the other three he had collected. He turned towards the door, but hesitated once again.

He approached his nightstand, a small lacquer box placed at the very back behind the now extinguished candlestick, shoved away like a forgotten bad memory.

He opened the purple ornamented box, and gently grasped a small golden pendant with the ancient Mark of Grima etched in the center with purple amethyst, lifting it up towards the ceiling. It had been his sister's, the very same one she wore into every battle. The tiny jade pendant was the only effect he recovered from the forest they had fought in. Nila tentatively clasped the chain in place before tucking the memento underneath his white undershirt.

Exhaling deeply, as if steeling himself for what lay ahead of him, Nila reopened the door and descended the spiraled steps towards the library parlor once again.

* * *

><p>"Remind me how exactly you managed to get this covered wagon, Brooks."<p>

Samuel pulled up a chair to the desk that Brooks was working at under the soft glow of candlelight. The mage was writing in a book of sorts, with the Brand of the Exalt emblazoned on its striking green cover.

The wagon clattered along the roadside quite smoothly, the increasing wind speed not seeming to slow the journey air had grown quite cold since the four arrived at Homely Hearth, the high wind speeds contributing to the frigid chill. A light snowfall began as well after the sun had began its leisurely descent below the horizon, dusting the freshly-cleared footpath. Clouds began to gather on the horizon, promising a devastating snowstorm further into the night.

"Ah, not just a covered wagon, my friend," Brooks replied, smiling smugly. "_Conestoga_. Faster, smoother, and more room to work. Not sure with I agree with the shape of it, mind."

"I… see. And as to how you got it…?"

The dark-robed maged clapped his priest friend on the shoulder, grinning widely.

"See, it helps to have connections and pending favors _everywhere_. I may not have traveled to this specific bit of Ferox before, but a lot of my friends have. Just one simple letter landed us this beauty!"

Brooks raised both of his hands into the air, in gesture to the entirety of the peculiarly shaped vehicle.

"And hey, we got an extra horse out of it, too," Brooks snickered before adding, "Maybe Desmond will finally have someone to talk to besides poor Lester up there."

Samuel quickly glanced at the taguel, riding up front with Lester. Desmond's new horse was noticeably more pathetic than the majestic steed Lester was mounted upon.

"Can Desmond really…?"

"Eh, probably. I haven't bothered to question him about it. But it makes sense, since they're both animals and all."

"_Part_ animal!" Desmond's voice rang out angrily from the front of the wagon, where he was perched upon a tawny, unarmored steed. It looked pathetic compared to Lester's muscular, golden-armored white steed.

Brooks burst into laughter.

"Sorry, Des! Didn't think you could hear me all the way back here!"

The taguel turned his head back to meet the mage's gaze. He narrowed his eyes.

"I've got bunny ears. Biggest in my family. Don't mess with me, pal."

Brooks cackled even harder before sticking his tongue out to Desmond. The taguel rolled his eyes and turned away from the mage, rummaging through his pack.

Samuel shook his head, confused.

"I cannot believe what I've just heard. Gods save us all."

Brooks finally controlling his outburst, responded quietly, "You know it's true."

"I think not, Brooks. Desmond's more human than taguel. By a large margin, in fact."

"Well, I still believe he can talk to horses!" Brooks crossed his arms, pouting mockingly.

The priest pinched his brow, sighing.

"Anyway, that isn't why I came over here. What exactly are you doing?"  
>"Me?" the mage responded, quizzically. "Not much. Just inking my spellbook. Damned ink fades so quickly…"<p>

"Inking? I thought mages bought their tomes, like anyone else bought their weapons."

Brooks tisked, shaking his head in disappointment.

"Oh, Samuel, you're living so, _so_ far in the past. A couple hundred, actually. But at any rate, I suppose there's a good story involved with what exactly I'm doing here!"

"Oh gods, here we go again," the priest muttered under his breath.

"'Tell me more,' you say? Happy to oblige, friend of mine!"

The dark-robed mage beamed widely, pulling a newly-bound book from his pack. He cracked the pages open, and cleared his throat.

"I can't remember the _exact_ date, but it happened at some point soon after the famous Grima War of the past," the mage said, skimming the book's pages. He soon stopped, pointing at a word obscured from Samuel's gaze.

"Ah, here it is," the mage announced proudly, slamming the two covers shut before tossing the tome carelessly behind his shoulder. It landed behind the desk built into the side of the wagon, falling to the floor in a soft thump. He pointed directly at Samuel's face, causing the white-robed priest to back his head up several inches.

"So, here's the thing. For millennia, mages have always used the same type of spell tome," Brooks regaled, wagging his finger in front of the priest's discontented face. "Only holding one spell, comically bursting into flames or fading to a pile of dust after a certain number of spell usages… that sort of thing. Though, sometimes the ink just faded away and left the user with only an empty book."  
>"Anyway, this one genius mage—Laurent, his name was—researched the problem for most of his life. And, get this, a few months before he died, he discovered the problem."<p>

Brooks turned back to his desk, and picked up the green spellbook he had been working on earlier. He put his thumb to the pages end, causing the paper to turn quickly.

"It's in the paper."

As the paper reached the last few pages, Brooks closed the book and laid it gently on the desktop.

"Turns out that using regular old paper isn't a reliable way of documenting spells. What Laurent did is he used paper made from a specific type of plant that grows at the roots of the Mila tree."

The mage glanced around, looking for the book he had thrown earlier, and retrieved it from behind the desk. He turned to a page near the front, showing it to the priest. It displayed a drawing of a plant, with a thin green stem and a massive, light blue flower at its tip. It looked quite magically potent even by looking at it.

"This plant is called Milathistle. After seeing how well it conducts magic, it blooming near the Mila Tree of all places, he made some of it into paper. After writing the runes for the spell on only a single page of this stuff, he could cast even the most powerful of spells no matter how much he wanted."  
>"The Bolganone tome, with the spell marked on hundreds of pages in a traditional spellbook, only yields twenty-five uses before it catches fire and burns away for good. On one sheet of Milathistle? Infinite!"<p>

Brooks beamed as he clapped Samuel's shoulder once again.

"And with that, dear friend, is how these spellbooks came to be. Any amount of spells—dark, anima, or otherwise—can be written in a single book and are available to cast at any time. However, you still have to turn to the correct page in order to access the spell you want to use. Laurent never did figure out how to fix that problem."

Samuel stared with disbelief.

"So, you're telling me the quintessential problem mages faced for _tens of thousands_ of years… was paper."

Brooks deadpanned.

"Yup. That about sums it up."

"You know, for some reason I'm not entirely surprised," Samuel remarked, directing his eyes upward for a moment before returning to Brooks' gaze. "But you'd think that at some point at least _someone_ might wonder why their weapons were liable to explode after a few casts."

"I know, right?" Brooks responded. "To think that all the greatest mages from the past had to fight with the traditional tomes. Ellerean, Celica, all of them. What if they forgot how many casts they put into their book? They'd just have a pile of ash to fight with!"

"I think that they kept good track of that certain aspect. That'd be like Lester forgetting to bring his sword into battle."

Brooks laughed heartily.

"Hold on… I'm trying to imagine that… but I just can't!"

Samuel began to chuckle as well, joining his friend in laughter.

"It's quite the farce, isn't it? Either way, I'm sure that the likes of Miriel and Merric were able to deal with that drawback quite easily. They probably carried an extra tome or two when they were getting low on usage."

"But where did they manage to find the space? I have space for only one book on my belt."

Samuel facepalmed, sighing heavily at the mage's remark.

"…Did I say something wrong?" the mage asked in response.

"No. No, you didn't. Either way, why don't you finish your inking? We'll need that magic of yours if we're to get in a fight with some Feroxians down this road. You know how well the brutes love their fighting up here."

Brooks thought for a moment, resting his head atop his closed fist.

"That I do. That I do. Good talking, Samuel."

"And to you as well, friend," the priest replied, grinning softly.

The mage turned back to his work. However, he quickly turned back to his friend, eyes lit up.

"How would you like to learn magic?"

* * *

><p>"So, what was that all about, Desmond?"<p>

Lester turned to the taguel, mounted atop his divine steed. Desmond glanced at the paladin from the horse adjacent to Lester's briefly before turning away and rummaging through the pack hanging from his right shoulder.

"Don't mind him. Just Brooks being Brooks, as usual."

Lester shook his head, grinning slightly.

"No, no. Not that. The whole 'talking to animals' bit," the paladin said, laughing heartily. Desmond was shocked by Lester's sudden outburst, as it was quite uncharacteristic of him.

"What a completely baseless conjecture!"

"No, he's right," the taguel responded monotonically.

"I mean, Brooks says quite a few strange things—" Lester paused, taken aback at Desmond's remark. "Wait, beg pardon?"

"It's true. Of course I can. Have you not noticed my ears?" Desmond lifted his ears up and shook them for emphasis.

"I know about your ears, Desmond, but that hardly explains—"

"Well, it's more of a 'mutual understanding,'" Desmond interrupted. "But I know what they are saying and they understand me as well. In fact, I've carried a few conversations with Ranofer since we've set out on this journey."

Lester's eyes widened in shock.

"You mean to say that you know what my horse is thinking? Simply remarkable! Tell me, what has she said to you? I must know!"

Desmond shook his finger at the newly-enthusiastic paladin mockingly.

"Uh-uh. What we have talked about is between the two of us."

Noticing the paladin's disappointment, Desmond continued, "But I will say that you have a very loyal companion. She's brave, following you around like this."

"Do you mean every word of this?"

"Of course I do," Desmond replied with a smile.

"I thank you, then," Lester replied with a grin of his own. "Ranofer's been a good friend of mine ever since she was born. She was the steed I was raised to ride, and the one that I will die on."

"I remember her telling me the same of you. I don't have any words to describe the bond you two have."

"Really? Has she?" The paladin patted the top of Ranofer's head comfortingly. "Thank you for staying with me this long, friend."

The horse whinnied in appreciation, causing Lester to beam brightly.

Recollecting his composure, he turned once again to Desmond.

"Tell me, what is it like being a taguel? I suppose it's quite unlike being a human."

Desmond's expression became downcast as he tilted his head towards the tawny horse's mane.

"You'd be right, Lester. But it isn't really the happiest existence around."

"Oh?" Lester replied, tilting his head to the side questioningly. "Why might that be? I'm afraid my knowledge on taguel lifestyle is rather… limited."

Desmond nodded in understanding before interlocking his fingers and closing his eyes.

"I can understand that. The outside world doesn't know much about us or our culture. I suppose I should start from the beginning, then."  
>"There are only two places for taguel to live these days. The first is in a traditional warren setting. They're quite few and far between, and you have to be born into them. For starters, there's a massive complex of caverns underneath the Ylisstol Fields, another underneath these Feroxian forests, and a third up in the far northern reaches of the Feroxian Mountains."<p>

"These warrens," Lester interjected, "Just how large are they, exactly?"

"From what I've heard, they're absolutely massive. The Ylissean one, especially. If a human got lost in there, they'd probably never be able to return to the surface alive. But that's all word of mouth, mostly."  
>"The second place, though, is a human-taguel settlement up in the very northern expanses of Regna Ferox. So far isolated that very few of the East Feroxians even know about the place." That's where I grew up."<p>

"A human and taguel joint settlement? Remarkable."

"It really was a great place to grow up, to be sure. Except for one thing…"

"What would that be?"

"Remember the far northern taguel warren I told you about earlier? That was the home of the Gray Claw."

"The Gray Claw?" Lester questioned, "I haven't exactly heard of them. Who are they?"

"They're kind of the taguel equivalent of the Sons of Naga, in a way; a group of purists, and violent ones at that."

"That doesn't seem… logical, I would say. Aren't all taguel mostly human? The last of the pure taguel died generations ago."

"That's exactly the problem," Desmond replied, thinking back to past traumatic events, "They still think themselves better than the other taguel. On top of that, they worshiped Greatmother Panne to an even greater extent than the rest of us, forgetting that she was allied with humans."  
>"Either way, they frequently raided our village, killing citizens and looting shops. Since we were peaceful people, our guard was very meager and often overrun by the Gray. We just didn't have the arms nor will to fight back. When we caught wind of an attack, we often evacuated the village and just let them have whatever of ours they wanted."<p>

"My, that sounds absolutely terrible," Lester responded, his voice tinged with sadness, "I suppose I understand why you left, now."

Desmond shook his head, his ears dangling like loose streamers.

"That's not it. The village is still there, in better health than ever."

"Oh? Do tell."

"Of course," Desmond said, nodding.

"You're right that the Gray Claw had their way with our village and destroyed it. Several times, actually. But we always managed to rebuild before they came back."  
>"When I was younger—gods, I must have been only eleven years, then—the Gray had come again for another invasion and raiding. But this time, we hadn't heard of any plans and were unable to evacuate before they came. A lot of the villagers lost their lives that day, human and taguel alike. My parents were subject to the same fate."<p>

Desmond paused as he recalled the event, a saddened visage overtaking his face. Lester smiled reassuringly at his friend, yet said nothing. Eventually, Desmond cleared his throat.

"But something happened that day that none of us expected in the least. As the Gray tore through the streets, someone that none of us had ever seen before appeared. His name was Roderik of Ferox, and he was a very big and _very angry_ East Feroxian."

"Eastern?" Lester asked, shock evident in his tone. "I can't say I've ever met a friendly East Feroxian in my life."

"He was a man who was above borders. He cared little for the name of his nation, rather the people inside it were his main concern. And since we lived in the east, he took it upon himself to protect us. He eventually became the one that taught me to fight."  
>"I remember him storming into the village with an air that disturbed even the Gray Claw taguel. That's when he began his attack. See, the reason you've probably never heard of the Gray Claw is because all of them are dead now."<p>

Lester's eyes widened.

"You're saying that this one man killed _every last one of them_?"

"That he did," Lester confirmed, nodding. "At least, the large majority of them. I'm not sure how, exactly. It was like pain wasn't concerning to him. He cut through each and every one before a few of them had run off for the hills. After that, he told everyone who wished to protect their homeland to follow him to Coliseum East Ferox. That's where I learned to use an axe under his teachings."  
>"He taught us that strength didn't only lie in our beaststones. True strength stems from a pure mind and a powerful will."<p>

"That's impressive. Very much so," Lester remarked. "If only I could meet this man. He sounds like an excellent tutor."

"He was," Desmond agreed. "He was more of a friend, actually, than a teacher. Marching into danger without a second thought, but rather a laugh as he threw caution to the wind. Around a year ago, we invaded straight into the heart of the Gray Claw's warren, finishing the last of them off."

"Was it overkill? Probably. But at the time, I just wanted to make them feel the same pain that we felt for all of those years. As we returned, though, Roderik was arrested by the guard and executed for dodging the military draft."

"And the world was robbed of an excellent man," Lester assured, "Most East Feroxians could stand to learn from his example."

"I agree, Lester. After his death, I left Ferox for Ylisse. That's when I met Brooks, of all people, who had just left his caravan. And once the two of us arrived in Ylisse, we met you and Samuel. You know the rest of the story."

The two were quiet for a moment, only the sound of trotting hooves and rustling branches permeated the expanse of dense pine forest.

"I have but one more question for you, Desmond. Is this why you don't use your beaststone anymore?"

"Anymore? I've never used it to begin with," Desmond confessed.

"Never?"

"Not once. By the time that the need arose for me to fight, Roderik had already shown me the ways of the axe."

"So what is it, then? From white I've heard, taguel are remarkably powerful in their beast forms."

Desmond searched through his bag momentarily before pulling out the purple stone in question. He held it in his hand, staring into it fearfully.

"You'd be right about that. I'm proud of my heritage, Lester, but after seeing the destruction a beast taguel can bring upon others, its power simply isn't for me." With that, the taguel stowed the stone, making sure that it ended up in the very bottom of his bag.  
>"I… hadn't thought of that," Lester said apologetically. "Forgive me."<p>

"No offense taken. But should we ever need to fight, you'll see that I don't need a beaststone in combat. I'm more than capable with the axe Roderik gave to me."

Desmond smiled, and unsheathed his beautiful steel-edged iron axe, the blade gleaming in a small ray of orange-tinged sunlight striking through the ever-thickening barrier of clouds.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Samuel asked, his voice tinged with concern. Brooks had given the priest the spellbook, which he held in his hands much like a squire would hold his master's unwieldy sword.<p>

"Yeah, sure," Brooks replied nonchalantly. "What's the worst that could happen?"

Brooks took the book from Samuel and opened it to the first page. He pointed at the image portrayed on the paper.

"This is Fire. It should be the easiest for a beginner to cast. It's the most basic form that anima magic can take. Why not give it a try?"

Samuel scratched his beard, replying hesitantly, "Alright, I suppose. If you're sure…"

"It's pretty simple, really. It's all in drawing the magic from out of the book."

Brooks lightly brushed the surface of the paper with his fingertip.

"See, the magic is mostly inside the paper. It's true that you need to have an innate magical proficiency to even think about spellcasting, but you just need to understand how powerful the spell lurking inside the page is."

Samuel's eyes darted around nervously.

"A-alright. I'm going to give it a shot."

Brooks clapped his hands once.

"Perfect! I'll be here if things get out of control. But don't be discouraged if you can't do it yet, since it takes a lot of work and patience to be mage."

"So what should I be doing now?" Samuel asked nervously.

"It's kind of like reaching into a bucket of water to pull out a rock. That's how I've come to think of it, at least. If you do it right, the 'rock' should appear in your hand as magical energy. Just try to picture that in your head for now."

The priest nodded in acknowledgement. Closing his eyes, he imagined that a small bucket lay before him. Inside, was a smooth, red pebble resting comfortably at the bottom of the smooth water. A fiery energy danced within the stone, causing the water to glow a soft orange color.

Reaching for the pebble, Samuel felt his hand grow cold as it broke the surface of the water. He grasped the pebble in his hand, lifting it triumphantly out of the water. As it broke the surface, a terrible burning sensation imbued his hand.

"Gah! Hot!"

The priest unconsciously threw the pebble down at the ground below him. As Samuel slowly opened his eyes, he realized exactly what he had done.

The floor of the wagon had caught fire.

"Dammit! Hand me that!" Brooks commanded, uncharacteristically serious. He quickly flipped through the pages until it landed on the page detailing the wind spell. Channeling briefly, he shot a powerful gust of wind at the blaze, snuffing it out quickly.

Brooks stared at the scorch mark, wondering how exactly to explain the burn to the friend he had lent it from.

"You two okay back—good gods, where did all that smoke come from, Brooks?" Lester had halted his conversation with Desmond, and was staring unassuredly at the cart.

"Yeah, we're fine!" Brooks said, covering for his friend. "Accidentally shot a fireball. Magical experiment, my bad."

"You're paying for the damages, Brooks, not me. Remember that." Lester's glare was that of deadly seriousness.

The mage scratched the back of his head, laughing awkwardly. Lester turned away from the scene, continuing to converse with the taguel.

The silence was deafening in the cart for a moment, before Brooks spoke up to break the awkwardness.

"Well… on the bright side, you got it on your first time!" Brooks said, turning to the melancholy priest and grinning nervously.

"Gods damn it. I expected something like this to happen," Samuel grumbled.

Brooks comfortingly wrapped his arm around Samuel's shoulders.

"Cheer up, pal. Not many can claim to have drawn out a Fire spell perfectly on their first try. It was my fault, though, that the wagon got burned. I thought a trial by _fire_ would be fitting."

Brooks grinned sheepishly as Samuel furled his brow.

"I get it, I get it!" Brooks continued, "Next time, we'll start you on Wind. But I believe you have a promising future as a sage!"

"I think I'll stick to healing for now, thanks," the priest sighed.

"Suit yourself. If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

* * *

><p>Sneaking one last glance at the smoke filled cart, Lester met his gaze with Desmond's once again.<p>

"Does he usually do that?" Lester asked. "You know him better than I do, after all."

"That I do," Desmond agreed, nodding his head and recalling how he had met the zany mage from his travels from East Ferox to Ylisse. "But Brooks is very careful with his magic. He may not look that way on the outside, but I can attest to it. Samuel was the one who cast Fire, actually."

"Samuel? Impossible!"

"Once again, you underestimate the power of my ears." Desmond lifted his ears up to make a perfect horizontal line to demonstrate his point.

"I heard their entire conversation. By the looks of it, Samuel wants to learn magic."

"Really? He doesn't seem like the type of person to be interested in actual combat. Probably from his sheltered childhood."

"Sheltered?" Desmond dropped his ears, causing them to strike his bare shoulders with an audible thump.

"From what he told me, he went straight from school to priesthood before I found him. I don't think he's actually seen combat yet."

Desmond didn't respond. The horse-drawn wagon clattered on in silence for several minutes, the wind picking up to an audible gale and the sparse snowflakes beginning to fall became much more frequent and dense.

The snow produced an eerie quiet, enhanced by the near-setting sun. It seemed that all sound had been drained from their surroundings besides the constant clatter of the horses and the cart wheels. The clouds above seemed to be lowering from above, foretelling the arrival of heavy fog. A voice spoke calmly to Desmond, snapping him out of his calm meditation.

"O-oh, sorry, Lester. I didn't hear what you said."

"My apologies. I didn't notice how relaxed you were," Lester cleared his throat, and continued, "Anyway, I have been pondering about what you've told me earlier."

"Oh?"

"Your story reminds me of my own. I cannot shake the thought of how similar the two are."

"So you've been sidling up to some fine taguel women, then," Desmond jeered with a laugh. "I knew you had it in you, Lester!"

"Yes, that's exactly—I beg your pardon?!" Lester cried, taken aback by Desmond's jest.

"Nothing, nothing... " Desmond dismissed, still laughing furiously. "Anyhow, tell me more. You listened to me rant, so the least I can do is listen to your story."

"Here I am, about to pour the entirety of my heart out to you… ah, forget it. I assure you, there are no taguel women to speak of in my story."

"How disappointing…"

Lester couldn't decide to make a face of disgust or join in with the taguel's jeering, eventually deciding to settle with a drawn out sigh.

"_Ahem_, let me begin with my story, please. You recall the time I told the three of you—"

"Hate to interrupt you guys, but how much longer to we have to go before we get to Stormguard?"

Brooks' sudden comment caused the paladin to groan loudly.

"You know what? We can discuss this matter later, Desmond."

"But I was getting so excited?" Desmond's statement sounded more like a question than an answer, adding to Lester's vexation.  
>"No more!" the paladin interrupted loudly, "I will not have it!"<p>

"Hello? Are you two there? I can't see through this fog so—"

"Yes! Yes, yes yes! We should be arriving at the border pass momentarily," Lester shouted, frustration almost boiling over.

"Is that it over there?" Desmond asked, gesturing forward to a large, dark bricked structure that towered over the massive pine trees. Its high walls were a sight to behold, massive enough to conceal half of the horizon if not for the heavy cloud coverage plaguing the area.

The clouds above had gathered forebodingly thick above, the snowfall precipitating at a steady rate. The setting sun was concealed completely, providing an atmosphere comparable to that of the dead of night. The gate watchers had lit signal and guidance lanterns to compensate for the lack of natural sunlight.

"Ah, there it is," Brooks commented. "What with the cloud coverage and all—"

Brooks paused abruptly, concern evident in his eyes.

"Wait a moment… something is not right here."

Samuel joined the mage at the helm of the cart, poking his head outside the cloth wagon covering.

"Something's not right…?" the white-robed priest inquired. "It looks okay to me."

"No, Samuel. I've gone through this border pass several times. More than several, actually."

Brooks' jovial personality was lost as deadly graveness replaced it.

"I may not have been to Stormguard or the Homely Hearth specifically, or even to the Stormguard area, but this gate is like a second home to me. And not _once_ have I recalled the portcullis being shut."

Brooks was correct; the gate was definitely fastened shut. The iron plating made the border appear more like a prison than anything else. Through the fog, people were moving about atop the gate and around it hurriedly.

"That can be explained logically," Lester rationalized, "Stormguard was just under siege. The Western soldiers are probably just on high alert from that."

"Still, I don't like the situation in the least. At least have weapons at the ready, just in case. This just doesn't seem right."

"Alright, fair enough. We'll be prepared for anything," Lester responded reassuringly. "If they attack, we will be on guard."

The cart rattled on, approaching the devastatingly bleak structure. Silence permeated the group of four, as the comparatively tiny cart approached the goliath wall. As the cart stopped, an armored guard, very much Feroxian, approached the halted wagon.

"Oi! You lot! What business have you in Ferox?"

* * *

><p>"Khan, I've brought you something," Aniam's commander pulled his head through the simple gray tent flaps that marked the Khan's personal tent.<p>

The East Feroxian military had set up camp only one day's journey from the Western Arena, just in time for night to set in and the snowfall to pick up. For Feroxians, the weather at around this time of year was remarkably average.

The Khan sat upon his wooden seat, looking something quite like a throne. His interest piqued at his commander's call.

"Lambert? What've you got?"

Entering the Khan's temporary abode, Lambert tossed a black bottle into the air towards Aniam. He deftly caught it before turning the label side up.

"East Feroxian Pale? They still have that here?" the Khan questioned, confused. As far as his memory went, Westerners had stopped drinking anything that was traditionally Eastern.

"Apparently," Lambert remarked, pulling up a wooden chair that had been positioned in front of a table holding nothing save a single Feroxian map.

"The town that my battalion passed earlier on the way to Stormguard had some Eastern sympathisers running a tavern, so I picked that up on my way. There's a couple more where that came from, too."

"You know me well, commander. No wonder I gave you that promotion before we started our conquest. You put in the best of work in _and_ off the battlefield!" The Khan heartily laughed at his own joke, his commander sharing in his emotion.

"I do try my very best, sir. Anyway, how does the night find you?"

"It's cold. Just the way I like it. And you brought me my favorite brew, so I'm in a better mood than I have been in years!"

Lambert smiled, noticing his Khan's joy. He had become almost a brother to him since the murder of his father.

"Glad to hear it, sir. But there was another reason that I came to seek you, though," the commander's expression became noticeably more difficult to read, as if he was unsure how to deliver the information to his superior.

Aniam noticed this, and leaned in closer towards his commander and friend.

"What is it, Lambert? I'm all ears." His tone became quite sympathetic upon seeing his commander's troubling expression.

"It's just… one of our privates who was present at the siege of Stormguard has told me he has some very troubling news from the battle. He hasn't told me yet since he keeps saying that he can only give this information to you specifically," Lambert said, before exhaling slightly louder than normal.

"He seems quite rattled too, sir. Shall I go fetch him?"

The Khan's eyes narrowed, unsure quite how to handle the situation. The only thing he hated more than his Western adversaries was discontent among his soldiers. Aniam closed his eyes, nodding.

"I see. Bring him to me, please."

Lambert stood from his chair before snapping a slightly awkward salute. As he approached the tent flap, Aniam piped up from behind him.

"Lambert… forget the salute. We are friends, and almost equals in my eyes. It is a formality that you nor anyone else of your rank needs to do."

The commander stopped in his tracks, holding the tent open slightly. Without turning his head to hide his surprised expression, he bowed his head low.

"I… okay. I understand. Pardon me for a moment."

With that, Lambert exited the tent and into the snowstorm outside.

The Khan slumped into his wooden throne, his good mood well and gone. What could happened at Stormguard? The city had been destroyed, and his target was not recovered, but otherwise the mission was a success.

Or was it?

Before he could theorize too much, the front of the tent reopened. A young man, who could not have been more than seventeen years of age, with Lambert corralling him into Aniam's presence. He was dressed in a simple red private's uniform, with an iron sword strapped to his side. The private was visibly shaking, and his eyes darted around the tent nervously.

Aniam stood from his throne, adopting an expression of worry.

"You there, are you alright? May I have your rank and squadron?"

The private began to stammer something that neither Lambert nor Aniam could make out. He cleared his throat, still shaking all the while, before saluting smartly.

"S-s-s-sir! P-private Michael, s-sir! U-under Captain Z-zachariah!"

Private Michael began to tense up as the Khan approached, bottle of Pale in hand.

"Private Michael, I'm going to need to to calm down. I've heard that you have information that I need to know."

"Ye-yes, sir! I will attempt to calm down, sir!"

As he spoke he still held his salute, not daring to drop it in front of his Khan.

"For gods sake, son, drop the damned salute and drink this bottle from top to bottom."

"B-but!"

"That's a goddamn order! Cut the salute, and drink the alcohol!"

The private's eyes widened in shock, not understanding exactly why his superior had ordered him to a casual position and to drink on duty without proper cause. Nevertheless, he did as he was commanded, tilting the base of the black bottle upwards until its entire content had disappeared down his throat.

A rosy blush began to appear across the private's face, his rapid breathing beginning to slow down as the alcohol began to dull his nerves. Eventually, the kick from the powerful beverage knocked back Michael into a chair that Lambert surreptitiously had pulled up for the panicked private as he drank.

Eventually, Michael spoke, "Thhanks sir, I neeeeded that." As the alcohol took hold of his mind, his words began to slur, his eyes comically glazed over.

"_What a lightweight_," the Khan muttered under his breath before coughing into his hand.

"Now Michael, I have been informed that you have extremely important information regarding the events at Stormguard. I hate to push you, but it is valuable for me to know what you know."

The private blinked before being drawn away from his alcohol-induced reverie, almost seeming to sober up instantly.

"Ohh, yes, that," he whispered, a frown appearing on his face. He hiccuped once before continuing. "I can tell you that. But I don't think you'll like what I have to say."

"All the more reason for you to tell me, son." Aniam grinned in an almost fatherlike manner at Michaels, coaxing him on.

"Okay."

The private closed his eyes to gather his thoughts. Immediately after they opened, he began.

"My battalion approached Stormguard in the dead of night, but well rested enough to fight proudly. Captain Zachariah had gone all out for his assault on the town, I think because it was the first important mission you tasked him with."

Aniam nodded in agreement, before gesturing for him to continue with the wave of his pointer and middle finger to the side, as if turning pages in a battle report.

"He had brought more pitch throwers, cannons, and ballistae than I had ever seen in my life. We must have brought well over one hundred siege weapons. Anyway, we began our assault and people started running from the fires."

The private's breath began to quiver as he continued to more delicate topics.

"The captain ordered some of the better equipped soldiers to take down the town guard. For us privates, he ordered us to round up the townspeople. And then he…"

Michael stopped, unable to continue. Noticing this, Aniam spoke, his tone hurried.

"And then he what, Michael? May I remind you that this information is extremely important?"

"I know, I know, sorry, sir. He… he ordered us to kill each and every one of them. I knew that was against Feroxi honor, but the captain said he'd have our heads if we didn't follow his order. So I did. I _killed_ them all. Innocent and defenseless women, children, and men. Some were holding babies. And then he told us to burn the bodies before your arrival."

Michael was visibly shaking, not daring to look up at his Khan. Aniam's expression became grim, his voice visibly attempting to conceal rage.

"I understand. You are not at fault, Michael, and neither are the others who spilled innocent blood yesterday. Return to your barracks, private. I will handle the situation."

Private Michaels lifted his gaze to see Aniam's expression, surprisingly one of understanding, feigned or no. Bowing slightly, he thanked the Khan and hurried as quickly as he could from the simple gray tent.

At the private's departure, Khan Aniam allowed his rage to boil over into his expression and his speech, deadly venom tinging his words.

"Bring me the captain, Lambert. And bring me my axe."

* * *

><p>Nothing but the incandescent light of candles illuminated the simple gray hovel that was Khan Aniam's personal quarters as Captain Zachariah pushed through the thin flaps that separated the warm interior from the frigid nighttime Feroxi air. The snow had finally died down as the night waxed into stages of midnight, yet the wind still howled and the arctic chill permeated the vulnerable Eastern camp.<p>

Zachariah shivered as the change in temperature became more apparent. He kicked the packed snow off of his plated war boots before continuing down the admonishingly long red carpet to the wooden throne that the Khan of the East sat upon. Zachariah's expression became similarly wooden as he noticed his superior's demeanor.

The captain had never seen his lord with anything worse than a neutral expression. Anger was an emotion that he did not believe Khan Aniam possessed. Yet there it was, written across his face like a hastily scrawled warning sign at the entrance of a darkened swamp.

"_Run, now,_" his mind warned him, yet his feet did not permit the movement. He knew he must face the wrath of the Khan, but for what?

Aniam shifted his grip on the axe he held, the weapon's head pointed into the ground. Yet he did not speak, and simply waited for the captain to make the first move.

"You called upon me, sir?" Zachariah noticed his voice waver slightly as he saluted, and hoped his lord had not detected his sign of weakness.

Unwavering, the Khan gave a neutral reply without showing any change in facial expression.

"That I did, captain."

Zachariah could taste the venom on his lips. Whatever Khan Aniam wanted with him, he knew it was not going to end well.

"Drop to your knees, scum," Aniam ordered, his anger threatening to boil over as he stood from his simple throne. The captain obeyed as commanded, not daring to oppose his leader.

"Forgive my question, Khan, but what is this—"

"You will know when I will it, vermin. Now tell me; what were the orders that I gave you when I tasked you with the destruction of Stormguard?"

"I… you said you wanted the city laid to waste, the guards dismantled, and—"

"The axe. What ended up happening to that axe I asked you to find for me?"

Zachariah's breathing became labored. He knew what this about, now. His failure to return the axe his lord requested…

"Forgive me, my Khan, but neither the axe nor its wielder were discovered."

"Ah, so neither were discovered, then?" the Khan asked sarcastically. "I do not like your word choice, but that explains plenty, actually. That is not why I have brought you here, however."

"It—"

"Of course not. I'll find Colin eventually and pry Hauteclere from his cold and dead hands. Wherever he may be, my armies will find him."

"Then what—"

"SILENCE!" the Khan's voice rang out in anger. Birds ceased their chirping, the gale winds died down outside, and somewhere a man stopped midway between casting a Fire spell to light his campfire.

"You will speak no more until I order it specifically. Am I clear?"

The question elicited no response from the captain.

"Excellent, I am glad you understand. The reason you are kneeling pathetically under me is not because of what you were unable to do, but rather what you _did_ do."

Aniam turned his back on the kneeling captain, tilting his chin towards the tent ceiling.

"Retell the events of the siege in your own words."

Zachariah coughed, shaking madly.

"W-we brought the siege weapons to the town as you commanded. I ordered the first round of cannonfire, rousing the guards. We cut them down easily. Afterwards, I sent some of my more experienced soldiers into the town while I ordered the privates—oh gods…"

Realization dawned upon the captain. He knew what Khan Aniam wanted with him.

"The privates…?"

"I ordered the privates to cut down the townsfolk," Zachariah finished his earlier sentence hastily before dropping his head low. The Khan turned around once again.

"Do you recall what the people you ordered the privates to murder were holding, captain?" Aniam's voice was unnaturally calm as he addressed the captain.

"N-nothing, sir, save for—"

"CHILDREN! Goddamn _INFANTS_, at that! And then you ordered the privates to _burn_ them all before I arrived at the battlefield! You didn't even grant them a proper burial!"

The captain did not respond. His shaking intensified at the sound of his admired leader's fury.

"You forget even the most basic of Feroxi rules of war!" The Khan positioned his axe offensively, taking long and heavy strides towards the kneeling captain.

"_Honor,_ Zachariah. No matter how dire the battle, no matter _who _the enemy is on the other side of the battle… you _never_ relinquish it."

The Khan stood near the fallen captain, towering over his crumpled visage like a colossus over men.

"And what has been reported to me was the most _disgusting_ abandon of basic honor and rights of the enemy that I have ever had the misfortune of witnessing."

Still pointing his weapon downwards, he thrust the pointed tip of his silver war axe into the wrist of the captain, rousing an agonizing cry of pain.

"They're… Western," the captain managed to sputter, "They… deserve to die…"

"I do not CARE, captain! They may have been responsible for the split of our homeland…" as he spoke, Aniam twisted the axe in the captain's wrist, causing Zachariah's cries of torment to escalate.

"…and they are right to be hated, but that does not remove their basic human right to honor!"

Aniam thrust the axe downward with as much force as he could muster, severing the captain's left hand. As he cried out, crimson blood began to pour rapidly out of the open wound, staining the carpeted floor.

"And for your transgression," the Khan spoke softly, his anger petering out, "you lose your left hand. Count yourself lucky that I did not take your sword arm."

Zachariah stifled his cries, his teeth clenching to hold back the pain.

"If I had taken your other hand, you'd be worse than dead. But I am generous, so you will keep your battalion, rank, and ability to fight. But if you dare fail me again…"

Aniam lowered his face until it was mere inches from Zachariah's, his gaze narrowing as he stared into his captain's fearful eyes.

"You will lose your right hand, and after that your head. Do I make myself _explicitly_ clear, captain?"

Zachariah only managed to nod, his teeth still clenched in pain.

"I will hear you say it, Zachariah."

"Sir… yes, sir," he responded, managing to fight back the cries of suffering he harbored at the back of his throat.

"Excellent. Now go find yourself a healer, captain. You're spilling your filth all over my floor."

* * *

><p><strong>Barracks<strong>

**No.001 Nila**

A resident of Plegia and descendent of one of the famous time travelers of Ylisse's past, Morgan. Although weakly, he carries the same blood of Grima used to revive the fell dragon generations ago. He was a tactician in the past, with a unique ability in Shadowgift and a refashioned Levin Sword, Ashen.

The most likely fall asleep while reading.

Born on December 20th, age 24.

**No.002 Matt**

The leader of a group of fighters known as the Justice Brigade. He brought the group together after he and Hunter fled Matt's devastated city in Western Ferox, one of the first Western settlements destroyed by the marauding nation. His confident personality is what the Justice Brigade's foundation is made of, yet he holds doubts of his own sometimes.

The one who slouches the most.

Born on January 2nd, age 21.

**No.003 Hunter**

A Feroxian duelist with a deadly mastery of swordplay. He has lived in not one, but two villages that have been razed by magic-wielding bandits or conquesting Easterners. The loss of his sister invoked a keen sense of justice within him and a fear of magic and fire.

The least fond of parlor tricks.

Born on January 25th, age 22.

**No.004 Chast**

An Ylissean Falcon Knight with a unique appearance of albinism. Her likewise albino father worked as a guard in Ylisse's royal army, yet advised his daughter not to join the cavalry. She took up work as a mercenary, and eventually met Matt after he saved her life.

The one with the scariest glare.

Born on October 29th, age 17.

**No.005 Marius**

A unique fighter hailing from Stormguard. Initially striving to be a scholar, Marius studied magic diligently throughout his childhood. However, he shifted priorities when bands of rogue dark mages attacked the settlement. After training in swordplay and axemanship, he joined the enthusiastic Justice Brigade.

The one with the worst sense of humor.

Born on April 1st, age 20.

**No.006 Valkus**

A Valmese quartermaster who tolerates nonsense of no kind. After a false claim of fraudulence, she chartered a ship to Ylisse's continent. She joined the Justice Brigade after falling to them in a battle to mete out justice for herself and others. How her personality meshes with the jovial brigade is a mystery.

The most likely to enjoy taking inventory.

Born on March 25th, age 28.

**No.007 Unknown**

**...**

***New* No.008 Lester**

A seasoned veteran and guardian of Ylissean royalty. Lester began his training for knighthood since the young age of seven. He failed to protect his lord, Blackwood, from a powerful East Feroxian warlord, Ilragorn. He formed the Ylissean Vanguard to right the mistakes that he brought upon the halidom.

The longest bather.

Born on May 15th, age 20.

***New* No.009 Desmond**

One of the rare taguel who bounced back from the brink of extinction. Desmond is one of the few taguel who have not gone back to their cultural roots of warren life. He trained under a man who fought against the Gray Claw, a taguel purist society that threatened his home. He refuses to use his beaststone.

The one with the biggest rock collection.

Born on August 8th, age 19.

***New* No.010 Samuel**

An Ylissean priest of minor nobility. His rigorous education led him to priesthood, where he trained in the Holy Church of Naga to heal his allies. After being denied entry to the Ylissean military, he was recruited by Lester to heal for the Ylissean Vanguard.

The best at insulting others.

Born on July 14th, age 21.

***New* No.011 Brooks**

A mage of Ylissean background that has traveled the world across. With his traveling mage caravan, he saw the shores of Valm, the peaks of both Feroxes, the sands of Plegia, and the rolling hills of Ylisse. Longing to be greater than an entertainer, he left his caravan to create his own adventures.

The one with dirt on absolutely everyone.

Born on March 10th, age 25.

**No.012 Unknown**

**...**


End file.
